


Allegiance

by guuzenkamo



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Atypical Lack of Violence, Detective!Shizuo, M/M, No Fluff Endings, OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 69,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guuzenkamo/pseuds/guuzenkamo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where Shizuo is a homicide detective and Izaya is an informant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. By the Rulebook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have no idea how police investigations work, so take everything with a huge grain of salt.
> 
> Shizuo and Izaya aren't nearly as hostile towards each other as in the canon. And Shizuo will probably never hit Izaya in this, because he's very lawful about his job. I'm not sure why I'm writing this, but I guess I always wanted to imagine Shizuo as a more-or-less lawful cop, because I believe that's part of his character (eg. he asked Shooter to turn into a bicycle because he didn't have a license to ride a bike). Also, I melt at the idea of them cooperating albeit begrudgingly.
> 
> Both are hugely OOC. Chapter titles are from Izaya's POV.
> 
> Chapter title refers to the song "The Only Thing Worth Fighting For" by Lera Lynn.

Vorona had only transferred to the department a little less than a year ago, so she hadn’t had a chance to meet Tom’s “favorite” informant yet. 

Shizuo thought about that fact for a while, dwelling on the overwhelming luck most people in Ikebukuro boasted — to not know Izaya was a blessing. Shizuo didn’t remember life before Izaya. Rationally, he recognized he’d lived without knowing the flea for a whole fourteen years or so. But it was a big smudged blur of hospital visits and a growing collection of x-rays, for he’d spent far too much of his childhood breaking himself and getting back up on his feet. What came after he met Izaya was a whole different story.

Sometimes people asked him, why did Izaya Orihara go out of his way to mess with him? 

Shizuo wouldn’t have an answer. He didn’t think about it that much, because a lot of people hated him, despised him even. It was nothing new. Around the department he was known as “that Heiwajima freak” because he had trouble restraining himself on operations. Police brutality wasn’t unheard of, by any means, but Shizuo took it a step further and often without a reason, simply because his temper would break when seeing the scum of the slums, selling drugs on the streets, wielding illegal firearms, laying hands on innocent citizens. It was too much to take in — Shizuo would snap and wake up to find himself restrained by his own colleagues. He wondered when he’d be demoted or released, but his superiors were quiet on the matter. They figured that as long as they had the “monster” available for incredibly dangerous busts and raids, Shizuo’s slips of violence were made up for.

Tom Tanaka, a lieutenant in a major cases unit, had always looked after him, and after watching him work for a few years in the narcotics department, he managed to transfer Shizuo to his own homicide squad. Shizuo knew the intended purpose of the transfer was to take him away from drug enforcement — there was too much opportunity for violence there. But Tom-san even insisted that Shizuo was smart and had a good intuition for investigative work. Shizuo didn’t really believe so, but he was glad to leave DEU. He abhorred violence and wanted to be away from it. 

He had been happy recently, content with his work and incredibly honored to work with someone like Vorona. A picture-perfect police, she was fearless, proper, impeccably loyal. He had seen her arrest people for the smallest things like loitering and littering without so much as a blink of an eye. Her lack of emotions didn’t earn her any favors around the department, and together they made perhaps the most unpopular duo in history. The freak and the “robot bitch”. It made him angry that people called his partner that way, but Vorona had made it abundantly clear that it didn’t bother her, so Shizuo could only learn to ignore it.

That day, she sat at her desk, leaning forward against the back of her chair, looking at him intently. They had just left Tom-san’s office, and the news was so tragic for Shizuo, he was on the verge of quitting his job on the spot. They had three unsolved murders, all related, and not a single clue as to how to proceed. Of course, that meant that Tom would use that against him. Go all the way nuclear on him.

“Please explain,” Vorona requested, leaning further in. “What is the source of your anger, senpai?”

Shizuo looked around the squad room, to make sure they were alone. He loved complaining about the flea, but the rest of the squad had already heard enough about it and they always made fun of him for being so steam-rolled by the informant. They even kept a mental score of their little “battles”. Shizuo didn’t want to think about what the numbers could be at this point, because he had almost never won. Izaya made a fool out of him on plenty of occasions, and everyone knew all about the embarrassing attempts Shizuo had made to try and open a successful case on Izaya.

“It’s just a flea,” Shizuo muttered, gesturing her closer. “He’s an informant, and Tom likes to use him.”

“Informants can be very useful, yes,” Vorona nodded sternly. “They say that a police is only as good as their CI’s.”

Shizuo glared at her, but it was impossible to be emotional against her stone-like demeanor, so he continued. “We went to high school together. He’s involved in a whole bunch of stuff — I guess you could say he’s a big flea in the criminal world.”

“He’s a criminal? What’s on his file?” Vorona asked immediately. She perked up the moment Shizuo “praised” Izaya by saying that he was a big shot. She loved challenges — there were cops who were in it to solve things, and there were cops like her who were in it for the chase, catching the bad guy, outplaying the enemy. 

“Nothing,” Shizuo gritted his teeth. “Absolutely nothing. I tried to catch him so many times, but he always escapes unscathed.”

“Tom-san says we should contact him. We must proceed accordingly,” Vorona said, getting down to business. She snatched the business card out of his hand and opened her cell phone. Despite the lack of change in her expression, Shizuo could see that she was burning to get on the case, excited to deal with someone so slippery and smart.

Shizuo exhaled heavily. “He’s not gonna talk to you,” he said with a note of complete resignation, taking the card back. 

Vorona raised an eyebrow. “But Tom-san’s recommendation—”

“He only talks if I call. The only reason he even helps the police is because he likes toying with me,” Shizuo said, cringing at the words. “It’s like a life mission for him, okay? It started back in high school and continues to this present day. Tom-san knows about it, but he takes advantage of it anyway.”

It was moments like this that Shizuo seriously considered quitting his job. It wasn’t his reputation around the department — everyone tiptoeing around him, talking behind his back, and it wasn’t the drudgery of bureaucracy. That was bad, annoying, demoralizing, but Shizuo could work with it. There was enough to the job that made it all worth. But having to reach out to Izaya, on an order that he couldn’t disobey, that was the ultimate defeat to him, the humiliation being too much. 

“I am registering a lot of negativity in you, Shizuo-senpai,” Vorona noted, purple eyes cold and unsympathetic. “Perhaps I could make it more appealing for you?”

“How so?” Shizuo didn’t think there was anything she could do, but it helped to talk about things before he had to make the brutal phone-call.

“You seem upset because you can’t stand the fact that you need an informant to help progress a case. But we work with CI’s all the time, we are usually happy if we have a good one. This means that this particular informant has a bad history with you. When it comes to working with people you dislike, it’s important to remember why we do police work. A chance at solving these murders is worth making one phone-call.”

Coming from her it was one hell of a speech because Vorona was only ever concerned about the bad guys. Shizuo chuckled, “Since when do you care about solving the case?”

Vorona rarely smiled, but there was a twitch to her lips. “I am merely trying to sell the case to you by employing concepts that are more to your liking.”

“Still,” Shizuo groaned. “You know what happened the last time we worked together? It was a complete disaster.”

Vorona was an amazing listener, so he went on to tell her about the wild goose chase Izaya orchestrated just for him a little more than a year ago. The informant did eventually lead him to the real culprit, but the case lasted a month longer than necessary. Shizuo almost lost it when Izaya admitted to it, standing there with laughter in his eyes, covering his mouth to hide the triumphant smile. For months after he thought back on all the “leads” they’d covered, with Izaya right next to him, all the thoughts, deductions, ideas, all for naught just because Izaya wanted to play around with him. He swore to never work with him again.

The source of his ire didn’t seem to reach Vorona’s heart, though, if she had one. She frowned a little, carefully thinking it over, then concluded. “I have too little information to work with, but I think he is what people call a necessary evil.”

 _A necessary evil_ , Shizuo echoed in his mind. Nothing about Izaya was necessary. 

Her words about solving the case moved something in him, so he promised her he’d make the call later that night. After all, the state of the bodies he had found still flashed through his mind, and here he was, fretting over a single phone-call, when the dead girls probably had families still clueless about their fate.

He was done with work at around ten o’clock. Paperwork was tough, but they needed to submit a report tomorrow by eight in the morning. The murders were a big deal — young girls being murdered bound to be. The press was gonna be on their ass about it, and with the clearance rate already below fifty percent, it made sense for Tom to shove that rotten business card down his throat so fast. Tom was one of the most reasonable people Shizuo had known, but even he was under the pressure of rank and chain-of-command. He had to answer the brass, and the least Shizuo could do to repay the man’s kindness was not be a little bitch and ring up the number he was given.

Rationalizations aside, Shizuo almost felt nauseous when he grabbed his cell phone. He quickly ran his fingers across the pad, then changed his mind and walked over to the work pay-phones instead. He dropped a few coins to make the call and punched the number in.

There was one painful dial, two, and a click followed by “ _Izaya Orihara, how may I help you?_ ”

“Uh, Izaya-kun, it’s me,” he finally managed, before Izaya could hang up on account of complete silence on his end.

“ _Who?_ ” 

Bastard pretended not to recognize him.

“Me, Shizuo. You know, we went to high school together, we tried to kill each other maybe twenty times, you almost succeeded once. Remember now?” he barked into the phone, his voice traveling across the empty hallways.

“ _Ah, Shizu-chan, of course,_ ” Izaya giggled. “ _I missed you. We didn’t part on the best terms, you know? I had a feeling you were a little upset._ ”

“You bet your fucking ass I was upset!” Shizuo roared, then took a deep breath to calm down. He couldn’t dwell on the last time anymore. He needed to move on, or he’d never stop seething about it. “I’m willing to put that behind us, okay? Apologize for being a dick, and we’ll be good.”

There was silence on the other end. Shizuo patiently waited, his nerves stretched. He frowned deeper when he admitted to himself just how much he wanted Izaya to apologize. It would mean a lot, especially if you considered the fact that Izaya had never taken responsibility for his actions, nor did he ever say “sorry” to Shizuo, despite all those years of antagonizing him.

“ _I don’t think I have to apologize,_ ” Izaya finally said, with a little laugh. 

“Why the fuck not? You know you did me wrong, flea.”

“ _Sure. But you obviously need me for something, so my apologies don’t matter. You got another case you can’t get started on, don’t you?_ ”

Shizuo’s pained grunt answered the question for him, and Izaya continued. “ _I’ll help you! And I’ll be good this time. Wouldn’t that make you happy?_ ”

“No! Like I have a fucking choice in all this!” Shizuo exhaled and rushed to wrap up the insufferable conversation. “When can we meet?”

“ _Take me to dinner tomorrow. And don’t be drunk like last time, it’s disgusting. I’ll text you the details._ ”

Drunk? When was he drunk? Whatever.

“Okay, my phone number is—”

“ _I know your phone number,_ ” Izaya sneered and abruptly hung up, always leaving with the last say in a conversation.

Shizuo stared at the phone in his hands. He realized he was clutching it so hard, his hand was beginning to cramp. _Fuck_ , he breathed out and slammed it back on the wall. Thirty seconds later his own phone chirped with the happy sound of a text, coming from a different number than Izaya's usual phone and confirming his suspicions. He had only changed his number around two months ago, but of course, Izaya was on top of that.

 

!

 

He spotted him the moment he entered the small cafe that he spent fifteen minutes searching for. The place was wedged between two bigger buildings, with the most inconspicuous hidden sign for a shop that was supposed to want customers. Izaya sat in the far corner of the place, and Shizuo walked over, a stack of papers in his hands. He had done well this time — he couldn’t wait to show Izaya _all_ of the pictures.

The interior was cozy and surprisingly low-key, with dimmed lights and minimalistic furniture with orange undertones, though Shizuo didn’t really know what kind of places Izaya frequented. 

Izaya greeted him with a generous smile, and Shizuo plopped down on the seat across the table. An intense staring contest ensued between the two of them, neither of them saying a single world. Izaya’s eyes were slitted upwards because of the shameless smile he was wearing, while Shizuo’s brows were deeply joined together. 

Those were the key differences between the two of them. A smile versus a frown, serenity against anger, the way Shizuo held his chin up to look down on the flea, while Izaya’s head was lowered, playfully tilted to the side. Every time Shizuo met the informant, he would face all the things he weren’t, and he’d wonder — how many normal people had a foil walking around like that? How many people had to deal with the person they hated the most for so long? Most people had the luxury of separating themselves from those they disliked and surrounding themselves with real friends, while Shizuo was stuck with a splinter wedged so deeply into his being, there was no hope of pulling it out.

The waitress walked over, her brown curls bouncing up and down with each step, and her appearance broke the spell they were under. 

“Detective Heiwajima,” Izaya drawled a delayed greeting, as if to taste the words on his tongue. He then turned to the woman and gave her a charming smile, making the orders for them. He knew Shizuo wanted a chocolate cake and a strawberry parfait when even Shizuo himself didn’t.  


The woman lightened up at the “friendly” customer, breaking into a cheerful banter with him. It always amazed Shizuo how Izaya managed to have different smiles for so many occasions. He had never looked at Shizuo the way he was smiling at the waitress — that innocent, childlike smile that seemed to disarm strangers. It was all a front, of course — the moment Izaya’s eyes darted back on him, the warm expression disappeared without a trace, replaced by a cold smirk.

“I’m really pissed at you,” Shizuo informed him when the woman finally left them alone.

“Well, when are you not?” Izaya rightfully pointed and smiled wider. “Come on, it’s been a year. Don’t dwell on the past.”

Shizuo slammed the thick pile of papers on the side of the table. “I came with _presents_.”

“Can we eat first?” Izaya wrinkled his nose. “Postmortems don’t exactly help my appetite.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Izaya-kun,” Shizuo glared at him.

“How’s your new partner?” Izaya asked, changing the subject, and Shizuo wasn’t in the least bit surprised he knew about Vorona. “Why didn’t she join us?”

Shizuo asked himself the same question. He saw Vorona earlier and told her about the dinner. She looked interested in tagging along, but Shizuo _lied_ to her and came up with some bullshit about how the informant wanted to meet him one-on-one. He knew there was a good reason for it somewhere there, but he couldn’t pinpoint it just yet.

“Vorona’s busy.”

Izaya looked at him with curiosity, and Shizuo mentally cursed him. _Fuck you and fuck your stupid red eyes_ , he thought, flaring up with the familiar feelings of hatred. 

“Scary,” Izaya theatrically sighed, catching the murderous intent directed at him. Unfazed, he went on to compliment him of all things. “You look sharp in a suit. Your brother has an impeccable taste.” Shizuo rose in his seat, but Izaya waved his hand, defusing the situation. “Yes, I know, I won’t mention him again tonight.”

“Better not.” 

Shizuo was pleased that Izaya remembered the “rules”. He seemed more cooperative in general, not a single snide remark yet. Perhaps he really did feel a little guilty over fucking Shizuo over a year ago.

They ate in silence, aside from the loud silverware noise Shizuo was making. It was hard for him not to attack the chocolate cake with the fork. Once they were done, the waitress came back to pick up the plates, and Izaya flirted some more with her. Shizuo cringed at the display and felt bad for all the women that seemed to fall for Izaya’s deceptive charms.

He glared at him after the woman left, with that happy is-this-really-happening look on her face. She really believed that Izaya was going to call her.

“Two-face,” Shizuo spat, and Izaya lightly shrugged.

“You insult me; I have a lot more faces than just two.”

“Did your parents ever apologize for bringing you into this world?”

“Gosh, Shizu-chan, are you honestly that mad?” Izaya laughed. “You want an apology?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Well, too bad. This is a business call,” the informant said coldly, nodding towards the stack of files waiting to be scrutinized.

He reached for the papers and spent the next twenty minutes reading. The files detailed the murders, and normally Shizuo would be leading the conversation, explaining and commenting, but not with Izaya. Izaya would have to manage on his own. If he couldn’t come up with anything, Shizuo would return to Tom and inform him that Izaya was of no use. His conscience grumbled a little at the thought, because Shizuo was in essence hoping that Izaya would be useless, which meant that he was hoping the murders remained without a lead.

It was obvious when Izaya got to the pictures of the victims. His face paled a little, though he retained the ghost of a smile. Shizuo knew very well that gore and gruesome violence disturbed Izaya, and he couldn’t help but relish in whatever small discomfort he could catch on that stupid face. It seemed like the greatest injustice in the world that Izaya always acted so happy.

“Don’t look so delighted, Shizu-chan,” Izaya chided him, looking up to meet his stare. “This is pretty morbid.”

Morbid was the right word. The three women were found cocooned in giant trash bags in different dumpsters across Ikebukuro, thrown away like old furniture or a broken TV set. Their cause of death was the same for each — eventual loss of blood from cutting injuries. Their skin was carved on by a knife or something else sharp, lines of the cuts joining to make something that resembled a cloud, but it made no sense to Shizuo. He took the photos to a local occult shop, but their “professional” opinion was that there was no real meaning behind it. 

“Now you know why I have no choice but to talk to you,” Shizuo explained. “Well? What does your informant ass see in this?”

“The most recent one is the most interesting one,” Izaya decided after a thoughtful pause, bringing his hands together. “We should start with that location tomorrow.”

“Why?”

They had already checked the scenes for witnesses and clues, finding none. 

“You know how this works, Shizu-chan.”

The way Izaya wanted it work was with no questions asked. That was the deal every time they cooperated together. But Shizuo had little patience for it, and that particular rule rarely held in practice. After all, Shizuo was in the business of asking questions and getting answers. He decided to let this one slide, though; he’d ask more questions tomorrow on-site. 

“Will you bring your partner tomorrow?” Izaya asked, tracing his finger along the rim of his glass. 

Shizuo hesitated. He really didn’t want to involve Vorona with the flea. Izaya was like poison that spread without a stop, and Shizuo was the most vulnerable to it, as well as the most immune. He could deal with Izaya alone. How was he going to explain it to both Vorona and Izaya, though?

“I don’t want to,” he said, deciding that he didn’t need to explain anything. “More importantly, can you _promise_ me you will take this one seriously?”

“Promise?” Izaya chuckled. “That’s a big word for someone like me.”

“I’m saying it’s already _morbid_ enough!” Shizuo barked, and in the periphery of his vision he noticed the waitress from earlier jump up at the loud volume of his voice. “If you drag this out any longer than necessary, I _will_ charge you with obstruction of justice.”

“Like that worked well for you before,” Izaya condescended, then pointed a slender finger at him. “I’ll make a promise if you make one.”

“What?”

“Promise me,” Izaya started and glanced away, breaking eye contact. “Promise me you will never do anything to Shinra.”

“The fuck does Shinra have to do with this?” Shizuo blinked.

Shinra was a common friend between the two of them, and Izaya had already done plenty on his behalf. He used Shizuo and Tom’s connections in the department to keep Shinra safe from possible complications, because the doctor practiced medicine without a license. An underground doctor, so to speak. Shizuo didn’t like the guy that much, but he’d known him for a long time and was good friends with his wife, Celty. Because of her, he turned a blind eye to the doctor’s activities.

“He doesn’t,” Izaya stressed. “But I need you to remember that Shinra stays untouched.”

The conversation was many years too old, as far as Shizuo was concerned. He had already heard this speech, _this threat_ before.

“Whatever,” Shizuo shrugged, a little unsettled. “It’s not like I want anything to happen to the goof.”

“Swear to it.”

It was weird of Izaya to get so serious all of a sudden. Shizuo studied him for a few moments. The gleeful smirk was nowhere to be found, and the narrowed eyes spoke volumes about the gravity of what the conversation meant to Izaya. He always did have an obsession with the doctor that Shizuo couldn’t quite comprehend. It was kind of creepy, but it also reminded him that Izaya was human, too. 

“I swear to it,” Shizuo nodded. “Shinra’s untouched.”

“Good boy,” Izaya perked up, reestablishing the old smile on his lips. He crumpled the napkin his fingers had been abusing ever since he mentioned Shinra’s name and released it. 

Shizuo suppressed a heavy sigh. It didn’t sit well with him to see the informant so concerned about their friend. He preferred it when Izaya stuck to being annoying and shitty in general.

“Tomorrow at the dumpster, then? I work eight-to-four, so let’s meet around eleven, yeah?” he said, wanting to forget what they had just talked about.

“Bring your partner, will you?” Izaya said slyly. 

He loved meeting Shizuo’s friends, partners, colleagues, if only for the opportunity to torture them and Shizuo at the same time.

“No.”

“Ah, no fun.”

 

!

 

As if to add insult to injury, it rained buckets the next morning.

Shizuo shivered in his drenched suit, waiting for Izaya at the dumpster. Despite the pouring rain and the cold wind and the fact that he was meeting up with Izaya, he was happy to leave the office that morning. He told Vorona about his plans for the day, apologized for not bringing her along, but she said nothing and glared daggers at him. Her expression always remained within the norms of cold indifference, but they had worked together long enough for Shizuo to be able to read her emotions. She was displeased to be left out, doubly so after Shizuo "praised" Izaya’s capabilities so much.

Wind slapped against his face, and he kept checking his watch. He didn’t have an umbrella, so Izaya chose the worst day to be running late like that. It was fifteen minutes after eleven.

Finally, he saw a cab pull up, and Izaya popped out, skipping down into the puddles. He looked around, waved at Shizuo, then opened a black umbrella above his head. It had black ribs with a thick yellow on the edges, reminding Shizuo of a giant butterfly. The contrast was vivid against the gray slush of the city that was drowning in the torrent.

Shizuo was mildly surprised when Izaya neared him and put the umbrella up above both of their heads.

“Don’t you read the weather forecast?” Izaya shook his head.

“I don’t have an umbrella anyway,” Shizuo admitted, so grateful for the break from the rain that he forgot to lash out at him for being late. “Well, what do we do now?”

“We ask.”

They trudged forward, with Izaya leading them a few blocks away. He skipped forward and ducked behind a nearby corner, and Shizuo hurried to keep up — he didn’t want to be rained on anymore. 

There was a dozen of junkies under the shed of an abandoned apartment that faced the dead-end of a brickwall. Shizuo recognized the picture very well; he’d seen hundreds of drug addicts back when he worked in narcotics. The more sober of them tensed at the sight of Shizuo, instantly recognizing a cop, but Izaya’s presence seemed to balance out the threat. Most of them seemed oblivious that there were visitors at all.

“Orihara-san,” one of the men whined, struggling to get up to his feet. “Why bring _that_ over here?” He shot Shizuo a hateful, glassy look.

Shizuo scoffed, hiding his hands in wet pockets. “You think I give a shit about trash like you?” 

He didn’t care about drug addicts even back when he worked in DEU, only going after the sellers and distributors.

“What my friend wants to say is, we’re here investigating something more serious than drugs,” Izaya diplomatically translated, looking at Shizuo with reproach. He steered him to the side and got on tiptoe to hiss into his ear, “Some _sympathy_ , maybe? They might help.” Shizuo shrugged, taking a step back, and Izaya turned back to the dope fiend. “Don’t worry, I can control this po-po.”

It took all of his willpower not to smack Izaya on the back of his head, but appearances had to be kept, so he forced a smile instead. It felt like his jaw was clenching in a spasm.

The man visibly relaxed and scratched at his abused arm, twitching a little. “Well, what brings you here then?”

“How’s everything lately?” Izaya asked politely, looking around the sordid place. 

“Shit’s been kinda weak,” the man complained, sniffing. “But same old, I guess.” 

His gaze shifted back and forth between Izaya and Shizuo, trying to reconcile a disgusted cop against a friendly face that was familiar with the hardships of their life. It wasn’t really the first time that people liked Izaya more than Shizuo; his temper often shot him in the foot, while Izaya always maintained a polite, amiable manner. 

Shizuo didn’t really mind it that much. He was used to being disliked, and this junkie’s attitude was better than most people’s who were scared of him. He was a little irritated with the way the man looked at Izaya like the flea was genuinely a good person, though.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the body they found around the corner? Maybe a week ago?”

“Aw, yeah,” the man’s eyes brightened at the memory. “Is that why you here?”

“What’s the word about it?” 

“Not much. I might know something about it for the right price, though,” the man grinned, revealing yellow uneven teeth. 

Izaya took out a couple of banknotes and flashed it in front of the man. 

Shizuo in the meantime noticed a young boy in the far corner of the place, drowning in filth and practically unconscious. White substance was trailing past his mouth, and there was little life in the half-lidded eyes. It was good that he didn’t bring Vorona today — she would most likely attempt to clear out the entire scene, arresting whomever she could for possession. It was a frequent deterrent in their joint investigations, her unbending law-abiding. He admired it, but he finally realized why he didn’t want her to come along today. There was no way she could work together with Izaya.

“Masaomi knows something about it,” the man said, blinking, eyes fixed on the bill. “You talk to him, you might learn something.”

“Thank you, Ryo-kun,” Izaya smiled and leaned forward to give the man a quick hug. “Stay happy, yeah?”

“You bet,” “Ryo-kun” nodded and waved goodbye, clutching onto the bill like no tomorrow. 

Shizuo scrunched his nose, stepping back under the umbrella. Now Izaya carried the stench of the homeless trash. 

“The fuck you hug junkies for?” he grumbled, once they turned around the corner. 

“Stop being so judgmental, Shizu-chan,” Izaya admonished him, handing him the umbrella. Shizuo was taller, so it made sense for him to accommodate it above their heads. “They’re humans, too. And they helped us. If you were smart enough to walk a couple blocks away from your crime scene and ask those who hang out around here 24/7, you wouldn’t need me in the first place.”

“Doubt they’d talk to me,” Shizuo mumbled, a little humbled by the reprimand. “They know I’m a cop from a mile away.”

He did try to talk to quite a few people he found around the scene, but the area was bad and no one dared to be seen cooperating with a cop. Some of them even recognized him by the color of his hair, even though he didn’t wear the street uniform anymore. Mid-level drug dealers knew all about the blond cop who ran around terrorizing and beating them up.

“It’s the judgment in your eyes,” Izaya smiled, leaning his head. 

Shizuo cursed, thanking the gods that the umbrella was big enough for both of them to fit under it without brushing against each other. The rotten smell still lingered in the air. 

“So who is this Masaomi kid?”

“An old acquaintance,” Izaya said, and Shizuo hated the way the man brimmed with joy at the name. “We should go stop by his corner now.”

Shizuo thought with trepidation about spending the rest of the day catching whiffs of that stench and shook his head.

“No. You go change now, and then we continue.”

 

!

 

Shizuo was surprised to learn that Izaya owned an apartment in Ikebukuro. When he asked him about it, Izaya shrugged, saying he had three apartments in total, and hurried to add that he barely used the one in Ikebukuro, in honor of their old agreement. They had decided on a temporary truce a while back, where Izaya promised he would refrain from doing too many activities in Ikebukuro, keeping himself occupied in Shinjuku. In return, Shizuo would stop trying to arrest him on every little thing he could conjure to stick to the informant. Waste of time and taxpayer money, as Izaya referred to it.

“It’s a little messy,” Izaya said jokingly, when he opened the door. He gestured towards the kitchen, then disappeared behind the bedroom doors.

Shizuo wished he could take a shower too, but he had nothing dry to change into, so it would defeat the purpose. He opted to go for a hot cup of tea instead. 

He looked around, feeling a little depressed. His own one-room apartment with a mattress for a bed in the middle of the room paled in comparison to the luxury that surrounded him. At least his earned money was honest, though it was hard to take solace in that thought. Shizuo didn’t really think police work was all that exemplary, considering the corruption at the top and the brutality of the bottom.

When Izaya finally came out looking exactly the same as twenty minutes before, with the same coat in his hands, Shizuo raised an eyebrow. 

“What? It’s a clean coat. I have many of these,” Izaya said, ruffling up his wet hair with a towel. Shizuo handed him a cup, and Izaya cautiously took it, throwing the coat on a nearby couch. “Serving me tea now?”

“Well, we’re partners now,” Shizuo shrugged. “What took you so long? Women don’t take nearly as long as you did.”

Izaya scoffed and didn’t grace the lame joke with a reply. He seated himself on the kitchen bar stool, sharp elbows against the granite counter top. Shizuo could almost count the number of ribs Izaya had, them peeking through the black t-shirt. The informant looked impossibly frail when he wasn’t hiding under his favorite coat.

Shizuo took a pensive sip from his cup. “How are you still alive?” he asked, leaning against the fridge.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Izaya answered with a smile. “Look at us, all docile and drinking tea at my apartment. If someone saw this atrocity, they could almost mistake us for friends.” There was a gasp of mock horror, and Izaya chuckled quietly into his cup.

“I’m a cop,” Shizuo reminded him, parting his jacket to reveal the shiny badge resting on his belt. “I’ve been a cop. Notice how I haven’t tried to lay a finger on you since I graduated the academy?”

Izaya glanced at the belt and put his nose up in disgust. “A fitting occupation for a monster like you. How many people have you beat up by now, thinking you’re the fist of justice, feeling good about yourself?”

That stung more than he cared to admit, but Shizuo ignored the words for the time. “My question was. How are you still alive when you’re a tiny bag of bones? I’m sure you’ve made plenty of enemies by now.”

Sure, Izaya was exceptionally talented with knives, but knives didn’t fare that well in a world full of guns and bulky muscle.

“I can’t say there weren’t a few close moments,” Izaya gave a little laugh. “Somehow, I could always talk my way out of it.”

“You sure it’s okay for you to be running around with a cop?”

Even for someone as fickle and independent as Izaya it had to be detrimental to be seen alongside a police. Rumors and lies spread fast in Ikebukuro, and nothing good spelled out for people who worked with cops, at least in the underground world.

“Not really, but when did I care?” Izaya wondered, thoughtful. “Considering your reputation, I’m not really winning anyone’s favors by hanging out around you, no. Do you know what they call you?”

Shizuo shook his head, the last of his good mood disappearing.

“The blond freak.”

Of course. Always a freak. Izaya took note of his downcast look and laughed out loud. Taking one final sip of the tea, he jumped down and slipped into his coat. “Shall we?”

Shizuo nodded, and they headed out. He wished he could go home for the day, feeling gross in his soaked clothes, but the sooner he was done with this job, the better.

 

!

 

The rain wouldn’t let up. 

They walked mostly in silence, aside from an occasional comment from Izaya regarding the case. He asked if there were any new reports from the forensics, but that was a negative. Shizuo would’ve told him immediately if he learned anything new. There were no signs of struggle in the victims’ bodies, nothing under their nails, no foreign hairs, blood or semen. If there were any other leads, he wouldn’t be out here on a rainy day walking alongside a flea.

“I’m beginning to regret this,” Izaya said, turning towards him. “Why should I be doing your job for you?”

“Trust me, that makes two of us,” Shizuo retorted. “You think I want to be out here with you?”

They stopped, staring each other down again. Izaya was the first one to break the eye contact, gesturing towards the door to their right. “This is it,” he announced. “It’s raining, so they’re holed up inside for now.”

“Alright, let’s pay them a visit.”

Izaya’s hand caught him by the elbow before he could knock. “Be nice to people, okay?”

“I can’t believe you’re still lecturing me,” Shizuo huffed, indignant. 

“Well, apparently, no one managed to drill manners into your stupid head,” Izaya pointed. “You embarrass me, is all.”

It felt surreal to be reprimanded by Izaya of all people, but Shizuo felt there was a grain of truth there somewhere. He did regard drug addicts as low-lifes that deserved little of his attention. It was hard for him to look at them as if they were real functional people, because they looked so broken and pathetic. Leave it to Izaya to embrace the entirety of humankind, what with all the odes about how he loved each and every one of them with no discrimination. It was a bunch of nonsense, as far as Shizuo was concerned, but maybe some of it was real, considering how easily Izaya mingled with them.

“I’ll just keep silent, I guess,” Shizuo compromised sarcastically when he realized Izaya was being serious. “If I don’t talk, they won’t hear me judging.”

“I was hoping you could actually find scrapes of sympathy in your monster heart, but silence will do for a start,” Izaya conceded.

“You though,” Shizuo put a finger against Izaya’s chest. “You have to stop hugging them, okay?”

They couldn’t afford to stop for a change of fresh clothes every time Izaya couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Why wouldn’t a handshake do?

Izaya slapped away his hand and shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

They knocked, and a shaved head popped out, eying them suspiciously. A young man, maybe early twenties. “Here for Masaomi-kun,” Izaya reported, smiling. “Izaya Orihara.” 

The boy paled at the name and hurried to fling the door open. God knows what the informant’s name meant in this kind of circle, but the boy seemed to be positively terrified.

The place that they entered was nice, a lot more clean and tidy than Shizuo had expected. It wasn’t a hole-up of the drug addicts; this was a place where drugs came from. There were a couple tables set up for money counting, most likely, and the men who sat there hurried to hide their guns in the drawers. Shizuo gave them a disappointed look that read _Really?_ , but he wasn’t in the position of doing something about it. There had to be a Masaomi kid somewhere here, and his primary case was a lot more valuable than a couple of charges on illegal firearm possession. A stash of drugs had to be here somewhere, too, but it still wasn’t enough to outweigh a possible lead in the investigation. It wasn’t his jurisdiction anymore, either. 

“Who the _fuck_ let a cop in?” someone from atop of the staircase yelled, and a blond boy ran down the steps. He looked incandescent at the stupidity of his minions who let Shizuo in without a warrant, but when his eyes fell on Izaya, he froze in his step.

“Masaomi-kun!” Izaya clapped his hands. “Long time no see-e.”

“I-Izaya-san,” Masaomi stuttered, his foot finally reaching the floor. He seemed to finally regain his senses when he snapped, “I’m sorry, but are you out of your _mind_?”

He pointed accusingly in Shizuo’s direction, and Shizuo kept silent, as promised. He felt like a sore thumb in the middle of all this. His instinct wanted to go all out on them — there was nothing good about drug dealers who fed off the misery of others, but he reined it in. He wasn’t in DEU anymore, and he needed Masaomi to talk about his current case. The idea of locking up the boy and then using that to force information out of him danced in his mind, part of him wondering why he needed Izaya at all. He could easily disarm the entire room. Sure, he only had one pair of handcuffs, but they weren’t running anywhere if they were unconscious.

Reluctant, Shizuo resolved to let Izaya deal with it. After all, they wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for his “Ryo-kun” friend back at the dumpster area.

Izaya seemed to be aware of his inner turmoil, because he winked at him with what looked like approval.

“Don’t worry, Masaomi-kun,” Izaya reassured the alarmed boy. “Shizu-chan is tamed.”

Shizuo placed a threatening hand on Izaya’s shoulder, gripping it hard enough to leave a bruise. Izaya didn’t even flinch, accepting the pain as proper punishment for the silly remark.

Masaomi sized them up in disbelief, then slowly lowered himself on the couch that was propped against the base of the staircase. He moved stiffly, and Shizuo didn’t know what was scarier to the boy: a cop finding out about their stash house, or Izaya’s impromptu visit. For some reason Izaya’s sight on the boy was almost predatory, gleaming with malice. 

“I heard you knew something about the murder down at the block 32.”

Izaya sat close to the boy, too close to Shizuo’s comfort. It was akin to watching a wolf circle around a sheep, salivating in anticipation. With the way Masaomi backed into the cushion of the couch, he was uncomfortable beyond recognition. None of that anger and command that he entered the room with, and the rest of his men either disappeared or made a point to look elsewhere.

“Y-Yeah. Something, I guess,” Masaomi admitted reluctantly. He stared down at his hands that were folded on his knees, like a school-boy in front of a headmaster. 

“How old are you?” Shizuo couldn’t help asking. The boy looked a little too young to be wholesaling drugs. 

“Eighteen,” the kid said, confirming his suspicions. 

Way too young. Shizuo glared at Izaya who had definitely preyed on the young boy, and suddenly the whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth. He wanted to leave, as soon as possible, and he gave the informant a meaningful kick to the feet. _Hurry the fuck up_ , was the message behind his scowl. Izaya pursed his lips, but his eyes remained on Masaomi.

“What will it take to get that information?” Izaya asked, leaning in closer towards the kid. “A threat from me, an arrest from Shizu-chan? Or maybe you want to be rewarded? Money, drugs? Hmm?”

Masaomi shook his head violently. “I-I don’t know that much. That day, I was around the corner checking up on the crew. I saw a car pull up, and a man threw a big bag in the dumpster. I only realized it was related to the body once the area was secured by cops and all.”

“Did you get a good look at the man?” Shizuo asked.

“Not really, he was wearing sunglasses. But it was a tall man, light brown hair, I guess.”

“Could you identify him if you saw him again?”

“Probably,” Masaomi hesitated, looking up at Shizuo. “Wouldn’t count on it, though.”

If there was any doubt whom the kid was more scared of, it was crystal clear then. Masaomi looked at Shizuo like he was a goddamn angel who could save him from the devil that was hovering over him. Shizuo really wanted to pull Izaya away from the kid, but it seemed like too odd of a gesture.

“What about the car?” he pressed on, instead.

“It was a Lexus 570,” Masaomi said with a small smile, probably a car enthusiast if he recognized the model so easily. “I didn’t get the plate number or anything though. I mean, I didn’t know there was something sketchy going on.”

“Yeah, wealthy men take out big bags of trash all the time,” Izaya deadpanned, and Masaomi’s smile died.

The boy didn’t seem to know much else. Shizuo took out his card and shoved it into Masaomi’s hands. “If you remember anything else, or if this flea bothers you, call up my number.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to, Shizu-chan?” Izaya chirped to remind him. 

Right, a drug dealer. Still, Izaya’s influence over the boy greatly disturbed him. He grabbed Izaya by the bony wrist and forced him on his feet.

“Thank you for your time,” Shizuo said to the boy, ignoring Izaya’s protests and hustling him towards the door.

Masaomi was left stunned and open-mouthed, forgetting to utter words of goodbye.

 

!

 

“The fuck was that about?” Shizuo spat at him once they were a few blocks away from the place.

Izaya was rubbing at his wrist, still pouting from the “abuse” he received. The rain had finally eased, and the umbrella rested against Shizuo’s shoulder. He felt like using the stick to hit Izaya with it, for the whole thing with the Masaomi kid reminded him why he hated him so much.

“I don’t know,” Izaya hissed, daring to sound petulant. “Not my fault Masaomi isn’t as perceptive we’d like. We’ll find some other clue to follow.”

“No,” Shizuo stopped, grabbing Izaya by the shoulder and forcing him to face him. “What the _fuck_ did you do to that kid? He practically shit himself when he saw you.”

“Oh, that,” Izaya let out, freeing his shoulder. “We go way back.” He thought for a few moments, then added: “We didn’t part on the best terms. Kind of like you and me,” he smiled innocently.

“Except I’m not trembling with fear when I look at you,” Shizuo pointed. “The kid’s eighteen, Izaya. You messed with him when he was still a minor?”

“I mess with young people all the time,” Izaya blinked, taken aback by the question he couldn’t seem to understand. 

“Can I punch you?” 

Shizuo looked around to see if there were witnesses if he were to throw a punch.

“No,” Izaya frowned, taking a step back just to be safe. “Relax, Shizu-chan. Don’t be jealous; if I could, I would only mess with you. But you didn’t call for a whole year, so I had to make do.”

“I really want to fucking sock you right now.”

Shizuo fumbled for the cigarette pack in his pockets, because he was that close to losing his nerve. He had been trying to cut down, but with Izaya resurfacing in his life, there went that attempt out the window.

“I’ll scream _police brutality_ ,” Izaya grinned. “And I’ll make sure the news is on it. I know a reporter in Ikebukuro Daily. Oh, Weekly, too.”

Shizuo took a seat on a nearby low-stone bench, ignoring that it was wet. His clothes were ruined, anyway. Izaya stood by his side, in silence. After all these years he knew when to shut up and wait, at least. Shizuo puffed cigarette smoke in anger, directing it at Izaya, knowing how much he hated cigarettes. 

It was a while before he moved to talk again, staring at his feet.

“You know how we used to chase each other in high school?”

“How could I forget,” Izaya’s eyes lit up. He always did love boasting about how fast he was. “But it was just you chasing me.”

“Sometimes I have dreams about that,” Shizuo continued, ignoring Izaya’s correction. “Dreams are annoying, you know? There’s no strength in your hands, your legs stagger like through a sea of pudding. Everything is a blur. But I try to run after you anyway, fighting through that weakness.”

“You’ll know it’s a dream if you actually lay a hand on me,” Izaya quipped, amused. “That never happened in real life.”

“Well, I do usually catch you,” Shizuo snapped. “But I can’t fucking do it. My hands struggle to form a fist, and my punch isn’t real. You dodge way too easily, and I wake up, thinking, _god_ , why can’t I hit the motherfucker even in my dreams? It’s like a cruel joke that my mind plays on me.”

Izaya looked at him curiously. There was mirth dancing in the red eyes, and he seemed to ponder something for a few minutes.

“Your story was touching,” he declared and squatted in front of him. Shizuo tensed, straightening his hunched back. “I’ll allow you one punch. Just one,” Izaya raised a finger, as if Shizuo didn’t know how to count.

Of course, it was a ruse, not even a clever one for someone as crafty as Izaya. If Shizuo were to hit a citizen — and as far as the law was concerned, Izaya was an _innocent citizen_ — it’d be easily reported and proved, and there’d be all sorts of trouble. Izaya’s eyes were honest, more open than usual instead of the familiar sly slits, but Shizuo knew better than to believe Izaya. He was one terrific actor. 

“Right,” Shizuo scoffed, turning away. He crushed the cigarette against the wet stone of the bench. “You’d end my career if I touched you, with your connections and all. It’s the biggest fucking irony of my life that I can’t whack the guy I hate the most.”

“And here I was being generous,” Izaya pursed his lips. It was a funny expression, but Shizuo felt uncomfortable with the physical proximity between them. Izaya sat in front of him, looking up at him with the most honest hurt eyes Shizuo had seen in his life.

“You should’ve been an actor,” he grumbled and gestured him away. “You’d probably make it big.”

Izaya jumped back up on his feet and gave it serious thought. 

“I agree. I’d be famous and rich, even more so than I am now.”

With Masaomi’s lead now dead, they decided to check the other two locations, but their search was fruitless. Izaya behaved, more or less, refraining from hugging any more homeless folk, and they didn’t seem to meet any more former victims of Izaya’s games alike the Masaomi kid.

It didn’t look too good. Izaya usually had a lot more input on a case, but he had kept quiet on this one. Shizuo knew it was pretty much a cold case — no witnesses, no suspects, no forensic evidence, no ballistics. The information on the car was useless, too. It was an expensive car, but not expensive enough to be rare in a city as big as Tokyo.

After the third place, Izaya got a phone-call that made him frown, and he announced that he “regrettably” had to leave. Shizuo muttered something along the lines of “good riddance,” tried shoving the umbrella back at him, but Izaya waved in refusal.

“You need one,” he smiled and disappeared in the crowd before the blond cop could muster a protest.

Shizuo stared at the umbrella, his first official gift from Izaya. He contemplated throwing it away, but he couldn’t deny that he liked the black-and-yellow contrast. There was a lot of rainfall recently, too.

With a shrug, he slung it back across his shoulder and headed back to the office.

 

!

 

It was like walking into a courtroom to hear the verdict of his death sentence. 

Vorona greeted him as normal, but Shizuo could read between the lines to sense that things were out of joint. It was unfair of him to keep her out of the loop, so he sat down and told her, very carefully, about Masaomi’s words and how the case didn’t progress one bit. Her features softened at that, but then came the rain of questions, who was Masaomi? How did they find him? Shizuo was embarrassed to admit he didn’t even ask for the last name, so he couldn’t run the kid through the database. Vorona looked at him with disappointment, but refrained from commenting on the slip-up.

He wondered if he should tip off the DEU on the location of a stash house, but Masaomi was still a potential clue in the case, so he decided against it. It wasn’t really his responsibility, nor jurisdiction. Instead, he decided to call Izaya up and ask for the kid’s last name so he could document the progress on the case in the files, as well as look up the kid’s previous criminal history.

“Hey, flea, sorry to bother you—”

“ _Shizu-chan, perfect timing! I need you to come to this address_ ,” Izaya rattled off the address, and Shizuo hurried to scrawl it on the stack of papers in front of him. Before he could ask what was wrong, the flea hung up.

Shizuo grabbed his jacket and rushed out the door. There was a note of urgency in Izaya’s voice that he had rarely heard, and something told him it was related to the case. It had to be. He found an apartment building at the address, and the door buzzed open the moment he rung up the apartment number.

The apartment turned out to be Shinra’s new place, because Shizuo recognized some of the furniture. The doctor and his wife frequently moved places, never staying in the same apartment for more than a couple of years. There was a lot of blood in the hallway, and he found Celty in the kitchen, scrubbing off something in the sink. Her blouse and skirt were bloodied, too, and Shizuo quietly asked her if there was something wrong.

Celty’s frame shuddered at his voice, and he realized how silently he had walked in. 

“Oh, sorry,” Shizuo mumbled. "Izaya called me here. Is everything okay with you?”

She wiped her hands with a towel and typed on the PDA that was resting on the counter. 

[The blood isn’t ours. Shinra has a new patient… he looked pretty bad at first, but he’s stable now, I think. I’m washing off some of our stuff so the bloodstains aren’t permanent.]

Celty gave him a warm smile, eyes unseeing but welcoming, and Shizuo thought how much he had missed her. They hadn’t talked that much in the recent years, separated by their work and presumed affiliations. 

When he saw the man in Shinra’s patient room, he wasn’t in the least bit surprised to recognize the blond locks that he had seen this afternoon. Masaomi was hooked with an oxygen mask, but judging by the regular, spaced intervals of the heart monitor, he was stable. 

Izaya and Shinra stood by the bedside, quietly conversing, and they both turned to look at him when he entered. The expression on both their faces confirmed Shizuo’s long-term suspicion that the two were twisted in their heads. Despite the circumstances, Izaya was wearing his usual smile and Shinra looked sharp and exuberant, as if he didn’t just spend the last hour or so saving a life. 

“Will he live?” Shizuo asked, suppressing the urge to smack both of them.

“Oh yes,” Shinra eagerly nodded. “He’s a very lucky kid — one shot to the abdomen, spared all important organs. Another nicked the jugular, grazed the jaw. I wish I had half that luck!”

“Can I get a moment with Izaya?” 

Shinra gave them a curious look, but didn’t mind. “I’m gonna go check on Celty,” he chirped on his way out of the room. 

Izaya at least had the decency to look somewhat contrite. He parted his hands helplessly.

“I know you’re upset—”

“What the _fuck_ , flea?” Shizuo said through his teeth, keeping his voice down. The unconscious boy didn't need any more disturbance for the day. “This is my case! Anything happens, you _have_ to call me. Where did this happen? When? I _have_ to investigate the scene.”

As it turned out, the reason why Izaya bolted on him earlier was a call from one of Masaomi’s cohorts. Shizuo was furious — not only did Izaya fail to notify him about this as soon as possible, he even got the call in Shizuo’s presence and had the guts to go and investigate the shooting on his own. This was bad, really, really bad. Without an official crime scene — Izaya had the victim moved and treated independently — the evidence wouldn’t be very admissible in court, if anything was left on-site at all. The casings, Masaomi’s injuries, everything happened for no reason. It was clear as day that the killing was meant to dispose of Masaomi as a potential witness, which meant that either someone had kept an eye on the boy — waiting to see if the cops got to question him — or there was a snitch among Masaomi’s people.

“Do you even realize how much this fucks me?” Shizuo hid his face in his hands. 

They were sitting around the table, and Celty served coffee to everyone but Shizuo. He didn’t like the bitter taste, so he was gulping down glasses of milk. The cold liquid soothed his nerves.

He wanted to be angry, but with the barely alive boy in the next room and Celty’s calming presence, he managed to remain in control of his emotions. Part of him understood why Izaya did what he did — the shooting took place at the stash house, and if the cops got to the scene, they would have to reveal Masaomi’s active involvement in the drug world. 

“What’s his goddamn last name?”

“Kida, Masaomi Kida,” Izaya said, amused that Shizuo just now bothered to ask. 

“Am I even a police anymore?” Shizuo wondered out loud. Celty kept a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he could feel her moving in an enthusiastic nod. “Well, drugs don’t fucking concern me. I just _needed_ to be at the scene, the casings, the witnesses, maybe even a fleeing suspect,” he exhaled a heavy sigh. “Izaya-kun, you just keep royally fucking me, don’t you?”

“Don’t fret,” Izaya smiled from above his cup. “It’ll be fine. We have a new lead, don’t we?”

“The kid needs protection,” Shizuo said, ignoring him. “I can’t put him on the witness protection program because Izaya-kun here just had to make sure to keep him off the books.”

“He can stay with us for a while,” Shinra offered, exchanging a look with Celty. 

[Yeah, no one knows he’s here.]

“What about Kida’s people?” Shizuo asked. “There’s a high chance one of them knows something.”

“So smart, Shizu-chan,” Izaya said approvingly. “But no one knows where I took Masaomi-kun.”

“You moved the body alone?” Shizuo sized him up skeptically.

“No, I used my own people. They’re discreet and trustworthy.”

What did Izaya know about trustworthy? He seemed to be certain of it, though, so Shizuo didn’t press it.

“I have to go back there,” he said and threw his jacket back on. “Doubt anyone bothered to clean the scene up.”

He shot Izaya a loaded glare. “I have to come?” Izaya sounded deflated and turned to Shinra for support that would never come. Shinra pretended there was something interesting in his cup. 

“What do you _think_?” Shizuo spat. “You made this mess.”

“Hey, I didn’t shoot anyone,” Izaya protested, but reluctantly made his way to the door.

Shizuo hugged Celty goodbye and gave Shinra a nod. “Thanks for doing all this.”

“No problem,” Shinra said, looking criminally happy that everyone was leaving. He never did appreciate long house-call visits.

[Be careful!] read Celty’s PDA, and Shizuo promised her he would.

 

!

 

They stood outside the building, Shizuo pausing to light a cigarette. Dusk fell, the sun slowly dying through the buildings, but the kids were still out playing, filling the air with excited yells and shrieks. Shinra chose a very family-friendly neighborhood to settle in.

“When’d Shinra move?”

“Maybe ten months.”

“This seems different. You know, from the usual.”

Izaya’s gaze followed a basketball that came bouncing past them. He squatted to intercept it and smiled at the scrawny kid who came running after it. The kid’s eyes were cautious, full of apprehension — the two of them didn’t look too friendly, Shizuo supposed. He took a step back, not to expose the child to second-hand smoke. Izaya teased the boy, having him fight for the ball, and pretended to lose the ball in a fair exchange. The kid ran off happy, ready to boast to his friends about outplaying an adult, and Shizuo’s mind was flooded with memories of their high school days, where he and Izaya would play on opposing teams in every game. 

Izaya did always bitch about it being unfair — Shizuo’s strength was unmatched — but then Shizuo lost horribly at chess, and it somehow evened out. Shizuo always snapped at the end of the match — they’d stare at the scattered pieces that rolled around on the floor and explode in a bout of laughter. He ended up getting banned from playing chess by the school administration; apparently five broken chessboards was too much for them to tolerate.

The memories came with a pinch of nostalgia, and Shizuo hurried to crush that feeling before it got out of hand. 

“It is different,” Izaya confirmed, and Shizuo blinked, trying to remember what they were talking about. “It’s normal. Shinra’s settling down, unlike the two of us.”

“I guess we’re hitting twenty-seven soon, huh? Not getting any younger,” mused Shizuo.

Izaya narrowed his eyes, displeased at the reminder of their age. He was already twenty-seven, since it was June.

“Let’s go,” Shizuo motioned, making sure to properly dispose of the cigarette.

Izaya trailed behind him, walking slower than usual and uncharacteristically quiet. 

“I’m tired,” he whined after a while. 

Shizuo thought about taking a cab, but they were already halfway there and he was tight on cash. It was only about fifteen blocks. 

“Tough,” he threw over the shoulder.

“I’ve been with you since the morning, and then had to move an unconscious body,” Izaya tried to reason. “Masaomi-kun doesn’t look it, but he is actually really heavy.”

Shizuo ignored him, pressing forward. He wasn’t in the least bit tired, but then his body had a lot more stamina than normal people’s.

“Where is my umbrella? Did you throw it away?” 

“No,” Shizuo answered honestly. “It’s back at my office. And it’s my umbrella now.”

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya called, resigned. “I’m going home — you can retrieve your precious casings on your own.”

Shizuo turned to look at him, pondering the ways to force the flea to come along. First of all, it was his fault for not calling Shizuo from start. Had he done that, they’d be long done for the day. Secondly, if anyone wanted to go home, it was Shizuo. He still hadn’t changed since he got rained on — he felt nasty and uncomfortable and dying to call it a day. Izaya looked only a little disheveled, with almost invisible dark bloodstains on his coat and a few dried spots on his neck. Hands tucked in the pockets of the coat, he did look tired and bedraggled. Or he was pulling off an Oscar-worthy impersonation of an exhausted person, Shizuo thought, not without a needle of irritation, noticing the puppy eyes and drooped shoulders.

“I hate you,” Shizuo turned away with disgust. “Go home, you useless pest.”

He didn’t look back to check if Izaya had left, but the sound of soft footsteps behind him had ceased. His mind flashed back to Vorona, how she would never abandon him halfway through like that, but he shrugged away the asinine comparison. It was ridiculous of him to expect anything from Izaya — they had never been partners or friends or anything remotely close to that.


	2. Forgotten Tunes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title refers to the song "The Only Thing Worth Fighting For" by Lera Lynn.

Shizuo walked across the stone floors of his squad room. Vorona was standing by Tom’s door, awaiting audience, and she gestured in greeting upon seeing Shizuo. She looked fresh and well-rested, a contrast to how exhausted he felt himself. 

“Is he in?” Shizuo asked, and Vorona nodded.

“Lieutenant is expecting us.”

They went in when they were called. Shizuo briefed Tom in on his progress, telling him everything about the case. He had always trusted Tom, and to be honest, he didn’t particularly care if Tom had an issue with the fact that Masaomi Kida’s shooting was left off the books. It was Tom’s idea to involve Izaya, and Shizuo played his best with the shitty hand that he was given.

Tom, however, wasn’t in the least bit concerned or surprised by the events. He kept nodding, growing more pensive by the minute.

“The kid didn’t know anything, yet they still tried to get rid of him,” Tom said more as a statement rather than question.

“It would be reasonable to assume that the young man probably knew more than he let on, but I was not present during the interview,” Vorona commented, and Shizuo felt a twinge of guilt. 

“Well, actually, Orihara did tell me that the kid gave him more information after he was attacked,” Shizuo reported. “I have a name that I can look into. Orihara says the man was Masaomi’s supplier, which is why it wasn’t a problem for him to recognize the man from afar.”

“You believe him?” Tom asked, looking at them over his glasses.

“Do I have a choice?” 

It wasn’t like the case was going anywhere else, Shizuo thought but kept that to himself.

“Fair enough. Take Vorona with you today, in case anything happens,” Tom erred on the side of caution. “Dismissed.”

“Yessir,” Shizuo and Vorona said in unison and left.

He excused himself after and walked over to the phones to give Izaya a call. Izaya answered, voice sleepy, and Shizuo told him to be ready in thirty because he and Vorona would pick him up. 

“Are you in Shinjuku or Ikebukuro?”

“ _Ikebukuro. Where are we going?_ ”

“To pay Adabashi a visit, I looked up his address. Look, I’m sorry about last night—”

There was a wry laugh on the other end of the line. “ _Don’t be silly, Shizu-chan. I’ll be ready in thirty._ ”

“There’s another thing I should say,” Shizuo said hesitantly, stretching out the swirly cord of the payphone. “Vorona, she’s a great partner, but you cannot do anything remotely illegal in front of her, okay?”

“ _What, are you worried she will lock me up? Shouldn’t you be hoping that happens?_ ” Izaya said through a stifled yawn and hung up without waiting for an answer. Shizuo put the phone down and rubbed the back of his head. The question caught him off-guard, and he found himself too conflicted to find the right answer. Didn’t he want to see the flea in jail? Why was he warning him?

Thankfully, Vorona came over and tossed him the car keys, sparing him from having to analyze the weird hiccup in his thinking process.

The drive to Izaya’s apartment was short, but eventful, too eventful to Shizuo’s taste. He hadn’t driven in a while, and he had never been good at it in the first place, only getting the driver’s license because it was a requirement for all policemen. Vorona sat silent in the passenger seat, probably documenting all the mistakes he’d made in her head. When he finally parked in front of the building, she politely volunteered to be the driver for the rest of the day, and Shizuo gladly took her up on the offer.

He texted Izaya that they were downstairs and turned to Vorona. She was taking the moment to read the file on the man they were going to question.

“The man’s name is Kisuke Adabashi, previously arrested for firearms, arson and drugs, did seven years,” Shizuo summed it up for her. Vorona nodded, and they exited the car, intending to switch their seats. He saw Izaya running down the concrete stairs of the building, wearing the same attire as usual. He enthusiastically waved at Shizuo and sent Vorona a charming smile. 

“Shotgun!” he yelled when he saw Vorona assume the driver’s seat.

“What are you, twelve?” Shizuo grumbled, but had no choice but get in the backseat. He wasn’t about to fight Izaya for something as silly as the front passenger seat.

They drove in silence, Shizuo feeling uneasy with Vorona’s driving. If it had been anyone else, he would call it reckless, but it was Vorona, and therefore every bit of it was perfect. She was fearless, maneuvering in and out of lanes, pushing right up to the speed limit but never going over it. Izaya looked at her in quiet amazement, for once having no comments or witty remarks. 

“So that Kida guy really tell you that?” Shizuo asked, trying to distract himself from the knot in his stomach. Vorona hit the brakes, accommodating the change of speed of the car in front of them, and Shizuo thanked the person that invented seat-belts. “About Adabashi being the man at the dumpster?”

“Mhm,” Izaya intoned. “Masaomi-kun is pretty big in the scene, you know? He’s the leader of the Yellow Scarves.”

“I have heard of them,” Vorona spoke up, changing the gears to go faster again. “They have increased their territory in the recent months.”

“That kid is a leader of a gang?” Shizuo asked, incredulous. 

“Yours truly was his campaign manager of sorts,” Izaya chuckled. “I pretty much made him.”

Shizuo chose not to dwell on that last bit of information, wary of what Izaya could blabber on in front of Vorona. He didn’t even want to know, anyway. Izaya’s involvement in the underground world always dampened his mood.

“Why would he lie though?” he asked instead.

“Because snitching is a no-no, Shizu-chan,” Izaya explained with the tone adults reserved for five-year-olds. “You don’t just randomly give up your supplier’s name to a cop.”

That made sense. Shizuo decided not to press it further, though something about the story seemed shaky, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet.

In the meantime, Vorona seemed completely disinterested in Izaya. They introduced themselves to each other and left it at that, barely interacting despite being seated by one another. Shizuo made a mental note to ask her about that — she seemed so intent on meeting the informant in the first place, it struck him as odd that her loss of interest was so sudden.

At the right address, she masterfully zoomed in between two parked vehicles, pulling off parallel parking in just two precise swerves. Izaya whistled at the display of prowess, but said nothing. 

“Shizu-chan,” he called when they moved to remove the seat-belts and exit the car. “I think I’d be better off not meeting the man. You’ve got Vorona-san with you today, so I believe you can manage.”

Shizuo was about to disagree, but Vorona stepped in to confirm. “Correct, your assistance isn’t necessary,” she nodded, exiting the car. 

It was unsettling to leave Izaya inside a police car unsupervised, so he motioned him to leave and instructed him to wait somewhere in the area. Izaya obliged, highly amused at the level of distrust Shizuo had in him.

“We won’t be long,” Shizuo said, frowning, but Izaya only shooed him away.

 

!

 

They ran up the stairs of the apartment building because Vorona was too impatient to wait for an elevator. Both of them were in a great shape, and taking the stairs to the ninth floor didn’t even make them lose breath. He took the moment to ask Vorona about Izaya.

“Not very interested in the informant anymore?” he asked, jumping two steps at a time.

“Incorrect,” Vorona shook her head. “I am very interested in him.”

“But you barely said a word to him.”

“Izaya Orihara appears to be a compulsive liar. When everything that leaves a person’s mouth has a high chance of being a lie, listening to them is a waste of time,” Vorona explained, logical as always. “It is inefficient. I decided that I was only going to pay attention to what he does, if that information is available.”

That made a lot of sense, and Shizuo thought that he should follow that line of thinking too. He spent far too much time fussing over the things Izaya said.

They knocked on the door, Vorona’s hand on the holster. Shizuo never used his gun, aside at the required target practice sessions, so he didn’t bother keeping it ready. He had a decent aim, but in all his years in narcotics he had never had a reason to pull out his gun, making do with the sheer power of his strength and speed. There was a reason why he was infamous for being a freak in both worlds, legal or illegal.

A tall, wiry man opened the door, matching the photo from the file they had on Adabashi. 

“Kisuke Adabashi,” Vorona greeted him, displaying her badge. “Homicide, Tokyo Police Department. We’re here to ask you a few questions.”

Shizuo fumbled for his own badge, but it was nowhere to be found. _Shit_ , he thought. He must’ve dropped it last night when he was searching for the casings that were never found.

“Got a warrant?” Kisuke asked, eying them with suspicion.

“No,” Shizuo said, and before he could continue, the door almost flew shut into his face. Vorona moved quickly, wedging her gun in the narrowing space between the door and the wall frame.

“Kisuke Adabashi,” she said, voice quiet but threatening. “If you have nothing to hide, you won’t have an issue answering a few textbook questions that we, detectives, have to ask. We do have the right to take you down to the station for a period of twenty-four hours, should we deem it necessary.”

Adabashi’s face contorted into anger, but Vorona’s emotionless expression had always disturbed the type just enough for them to give in. Underneath the mask of rage, there was a lining of fear instilled by the two cops who seemed to be more dangerous than the thugs he dealt with on the regular. Shizuo wouldn’t be surprised if Adabashi heard of him, because the glare was more focused on him than Vorona, and Vorona was the one nonchalantly waving a gun in his face.

“Make it quick,” Adabashi muttered. “No entering my space, though.”

Vorona proceeded as usual. “June 18, 8:30 to 9:30 PM, where were you and do you have someone to confirm your location for that time frame?”

Adabashi looked at them like they were crazy and cackled. “That’s more than a week ago. Shit, I was probably at the park or something.”

“You take walks in the park often?” Shizuo asked, skeptical.

“Indeed, I do,” Adabashi sneered. 

“What’s your main occupation?”

“I own a bar, but that’s none of your business.”

Shizuo and Vorona exchanged a look and silently agreed to leave it as is. “Thank you for your time,” Vorona said and withdrew the gun. The door slammed shut the next second.

“He wasn’t gonna say anything,” Shizuo dryly acknowledged, as they went down the stairs. 

They didn’t know if it was him that was really at the dumpster — Shizuo still had reasonable doubts about Izaya’s words — but the way the man carried himself spoke of a criminal that wouldn’t blink at a murder. With guns and heavy drugs in the past, he was definitely the right profile. 

“Agreed,” Vorona said. “We need more evidence before we can pressure him.”

 

!

 

They decided to tail Adabashi’s car to see what kind of places the man would visit. They stopped by the station to pick up another indistinct vehicle — Vorona would be in one, while Shizuo and Izaya would be in another. He had another altercation with Izaya on the way there, and Vorona quietly offered to switch places — she said she didn’t care if Izaya was in her car. She also suggested they didn’t really need the informant to ride around with them, but Shizuo disagreed. Izaya was very knowledgeable about a lot of places in the city, and they didn’t know what kind of places they would end up seeing.

He also felt uneasy at the idea of Vorona and Izaya being on their own. Vorona handled him with amazing control, but Izaya was irritating enough to get under anyone’s skin. At least Shizuo knew what to expect, so he shook off the first offer, too. Vorona gave him a curious look, but said nothing further.

Tailing was best done with three or four cars, but two cars would do if the driver wasn’t acutely aware of his surroundings. Adabashi left his apartment at around 7 PM, and confirming his earlier story about being a bar owner, stopped by a night bar in one of Ikebukuro’s best spots for nightlife. Izaya didn’t take long before he made fun of his driving skills — Shizuo saw that coming a mile away, so he just grumbled something indiscernible in response. 

Nothing happened that day, or the next. Adabashi would travel between his house and the bar, sometimes visiting a friend in between the two destinations, never for longer than thirty minutes. If Adabashi was still involved in the drug-dealing business, he had delegated all of his responsibilities to lower ranks, never coming near anything suspicious. No packages, no money, nothing.

Izaya paid a visit to the bar during one of the nights, in an attempt to sniff out any suspicious activity inside, only to come out hours later with nothing. There was a stench of smoke and perfume around him when the informant jumped back into his seat, and Shizuo wanted to punch him more than the usual amount.

“He uses his cell-phone a lot, you know,” Izaya spoke, leaning against the window. His nose perked up against the glass. “That’s how it’s done these days, Shizu-chan. Connections. A mobile network is quite reflective as a map of human relationships, hierarchies and systems.”

“We don’t have anything on him,” Shizuo said dismally. “There’s no way we could get access to the phone records, let alone the content of them. Need probable cause.”

“Your hands are tied,” Izaya lilted, no sympathy in the voice. “Or should I say handcuffed?”

They were sitting in the car, parked a block away with vision on Adabashi’s car. It was just the two of them for the night. Vorona was pulled to another case earlier this morning, and Tom hinted that Shizuo should give up on the tailing if there were no results in the next few days.

“You stink,” Shizuo grumbled, throwing him a disgusted look. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did indeed,” Izaya smiled. “I love bars; a perfect canvas of humanity’s most visceral impulses.”

“I misplaced my badge somewhere,” Shizuo complained, changing the irritating topic. “Keep forgetting to report it. They cost a hell of a lot, like they’re made of gold or something.”

He was given a condescending look. “Want me to cover the cost?” Izaya asked, indifferent. “Money isn’t a problem for me.”

“Who’d want to be in your debt?”

Izaya chuckled, then looked alarmed. “Look,” he gestured outside. “He’s leaving earlier than usual tonight.”

Shizuo started the car, and to his surprise, Adabashi took a different turn that night, not the one that led back to his home. “I have to tail more carefully,” he said, adjusting the gears. “Following with only one car is fucking hard.”

Luckily, the night traffic was loose, so he allowed himself to be in a different lane, sometimes falling behind farther than a proper tail necessitated. Eventually, Adabashi’s car stopped in front of a big white building, and the man left the car to walk towards the back-door warehouse of the place.

“Yagiri Pharmaceuticals,” Izaya quietly said. 

“You know this place?” Shizuo frowned. “What do you care about a clinic?”

“Reasons,” Izaya vaguely said. “I guess we wait again.”

Shizuo texted the update to Vorona, and she replied, promising she would look into the company after she was done with the paperwork for the new case.

“A stake-out night with Shizu-chan,” Izaya sang, leaning forward to put his head against Shizuo’s shoulder. “Whatever shall we do to busy ourselves?”

The proximity brought about a sharp whiff of the perfume Izaya picked up at the bar, and Shizuo shoved him off. “We wait,” he barked, irritated. “If you want to take a nap, go ahead. I feel better when I can pretend you’re not here.”

Izaya feigned a look of hurt, but turned away to curl up in the seat. He was small enough that bringing his legs up to his chin made for a comfortable sleeping position. Technically, Shizuo could pull off the same position, but he had a bit more meat on his bones so it would hardly be a pleasant way to rest in the cramped space.

Within twenty minutes, Izaya really did fall asleep like that. Shizuo tuned the radio to be quieter, then turned it off completely. He had no interest in music or talk shows anyway, welcoming the silence after a long hot day of burning up in the car and arguments with the little body sleeping to his right. It was hard to believe that a human as small as that was the mastermind behind so many games in the city. Izaya’s coat was thrown in the back seat a while back, its owner whining about the heat, so all he was wearing were the skinny jeans and the black t-shirt that rode up to reveal a strip of skin that had seen no sun and protruding spine vertebrae.

 _Fucking tiny flea_ , Shizuo thought in quiet anger. It was harder to be bloodthirsty against a person who looked so frail, even if the looks were entirely deceptive. Izaya did manage to almost kill him once, after all. That was the peak of Izaya’s hatred for him — Izaya had messed with him for years, sending gangs after him, getting him fired from jobs, sabotaging any romantic relationship that was on the horizon. It culminated right after Shizuo graduated the academy, against Izaya’s best attempts of getting him expelled. About a month after the graduation ceremony, Shizuo woke up to find himself in the middle of fucking nowhere, in some hole in Hokkaido. It was an abandoned warehouse, the floors were flooded with muddy water, freezing up to become ice. For a while Shizuo thought that he was gonna die like a dog, either starved or frozen, and no one would even find his body. He didn’t know how many days he’d survived like that, but eventually he woke up back in his bedroom, with a pack of clean clothes and a message that read _Changed my mind_. He never really confirmed if it was really Izaya’s doing, but it was as obvious as the sun rising in the east, a given fact of life. The note was still somewhere in one of his drawers, the kanji and the strokes of kana so beautiful that Shizuo thought it would be incredibly easy to match it to Izaya's handwriting if he ever wanted to find out for certain.

Shizuo didn’t retaliate because it felt like their rivalry was resolved in a certain way. He didn’t think any better of Izaya, the opposite, actually, but it became clear that Izaya had given up on trying to kill him for real. Shizuo went on to become a patrol officer, and from then on he couldn’t really hurt Izaya, aside from hopes of locking him up. The man deserved to be in jail, for that kidnapping alone, but also for a myriad of other reasons.

Time ticked away slowly. He kept glancing at the green numbers above the radio of the car, blinking in the dark. An hour later the silence grew to be annoying, ringing in his ears, and he was tired of thinking. He gave Izaya a sharp poke in the back of the ribs, and Izaya jerked awake with a whiny cry.

“What gives?” he pouted and sat up straight, slowly stretching out his limbs. 

“I’m fucking bored,” Shizuo muttered, glancing at Adabashi’s car again. “Entertain me.”

“Okay,” Izaya agreed suspiciously easily. “Let’s play cards.”

He whipped out a deck that glistened like gold and reached behind to pick up a book from the backseats for a surface to lay the cards on. “I don’t know too many card games,” Shizuo admitted.

“I’ll teach you,” Izaya smiled. “This one is called _gwent_.”

The rules were pretty simple — each card was worth a number of points, a round was won if you had played more points than the opponent, and a game consisted of three rounds. There were special cards that possessed unique abilities and normal soldier cards that were there for just points. Shizuo got the hang of it pretty quickly, favoring to use the cards that enhanced the soldiers and relying on weather cards that reduced the efficiency of different rows. Of course, Izaya beat him every round. 

He wished he could accuse Izaya of cheating, but Izaya faithfully followed the established rule-book. “I don’t need to cheat to beat _you_ ,” Izaya laughed, amused by Shizuo’s growing impatience.

“You keep using spies,” Shizuo spat, surrendering another round. “I hate that shit.”

“That’s because you’re simple-minded,” Izaya pointed. “You want everything to be straight-forward, but life isn’t always like that. Sometimes a roundabout way is more interesting and effective.”

Eventually Shizuo lost his temper and threw the cards up in the air, and they fell around them shimmering like autumn leaves under the sun. Izaya exploded in a childlike, almost soundless giggle. He plucked out a card that got stuck on the windshield and handed it to him. Shizuo frowned and brought it closer to see what was so special about it. It was a Hero Card, and the drawing was a stylized depiction of a man who looked just like Shizuo. The blond hair, the purple-tinted shades, the suit. The face was twisted in a fit of anger, the clothes disheveled, his tie hanging loose on top of the slightly unbuttoned shirt. 

“Did you create this game or something?” Shizuo asked, pocketing the card. Izaya raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment on the fact that Shizuo decided to appropriate the card.

“No, but I designed my own deck.”

“Who else did you put there?”

“Shinra, Celty, a couple of other pawns,” Izaya smiled knowingly to himself. “Yours is my favorite, though. You can keep it, by the way — I have a copy.”

“I look like I’m about to give you a good beating,” Shizuo chuckled, thinking back on the murderous pose, though a part of him felt irked that he was Izaya’s favorite card. Shouldn’t it be Shinra?

He shifted in his seat, reaching out and collecting the rest of the scattered cards. They were everywhere, stuffed in all possible corners, wedged in between the seats and compartments. When he leaned forward to catch the card by Izaya’s seat, Izaya grabbed him by the tie and yanked him forward, throwing him off-balance. There was a lot of unexpected power to the pull, and Shizuo ended up leaning on top of him.

“Flea—” Shizuo stuttered, caught off-guard, but Izaya brought a finger to his lips, shushing, and began undoing his tie like it was the most normal thing to do. The smile on his face was full of mischief, and Shizuo finally snapped out of his stupor to slap the brazen hands away. They retreated like snakes, but not without claiming the tie with them. The fabric slid down the back of his neck, and Shizuo hurried to lean back into his own seat.

“What the hell,” he mumbled, staring back at Adabashi’s lonely car. There was a weird feeling in his chest that couldn’t pass for anger no matter how much Shizuo tried to reassign it.

“Your tie was too tight,” Izaya said slyly, curling the silky strip around his hand.

“You’re really pushing your luck these days,” Shizuo said, shaking his head a little, but there was nothing he could do. Izaya was messing with his head, and weird stunts like that were his weapons. He ought to be just as bored as Shizuo was; it made sense for him to start pulling things that’d throw him off-guard like that. Shizuo pondered that for a bit and decided against reacting to the provocation. 

“Smart beast,” Izaya sighed, acknowledging the lack of anger, and pocketed the tie. “You took the card, I want something in return. _Nothing_ is free, Shizu-chan, keep that much in mind.”

“You’re here for free,” Shizuo shrugged.

“That’s what you think.”

Shizuo was about to answer, but the car door shot open and he saw Izaya bolting out. With a curse, Shizuo hurried outside and ran after him. Adrenaline surged through his veins, his mind freezing — the feeling was all too familiar, he didn’t need to think twice on it. He had chased the man in front of him so many times, it was almost textbook, though he didn’t remember running after him this deep into the night. He followed him into a nearby park, the moon illuminating the cobblestone and the trees that rustled around the pathway. Finally, he saw Izaya tackle down a _girl_ and he froze in his tracks.

“What the _fuck_ —” he said, his breath hitched.

“Help me restrain her!” Izaya hissed, his arm wrapping around the girl’s neck like he was trying to cut off the air channels. The young woman in a hospital gown struggled in the grasp, shrieking and kicking up her feet. Shizuo moved to take her away from the flea, and Izaya handed her over immediately.

“I don’t think anyone followed her,” he said, adjusting his t-shirt. 

Shizuo cradled the girl, mumbling the usual words of comfort like _it’s okay, you’re safe now_ and the like. He then shot Izaya a questioning look. “Who the fuck is this?” he mouthed, careful not to let the girl hear him. The girl relaxed in his arms, and he took the break to take off his jacket and put it around her trembling figure. 

Izaya shook his head at him, disappointment reflected in the eyes. “She ran out of that building. Sheesh, Shizu-chan, how blind can you be?”

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Shizuo decided, and they headed back to the car.

He seated the girl in the back, noticing the glistening trail of tears on her cheeks. They drove off in loaded silence, Izaya looking back over his shoulder periodically. “The scar on her neck,” he noted after a while.

“Yeah,” Shizuo nodded grimly. The scar matched the bodies that were dumped in the trash, a cutting mark that looked like a sine wave. 

Izaya insisted that they bring the girl to Shinra, and Shizuo argued against it. He had enough of this “private investigation” bullshit — at least some of it had to be done by the books — but Izaya could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. He convinced Shizuo that it was best to try and understand the situation first, and they could always deliver the girl to a proper hospital later. Shizuo gave in, though he made it obvious that Izaya owed him big time on that.

That was the wrong move, for both of them. 

Shinra opened the door, yawning, oblivious in his sleepy state, and the girl screamed at the top of her lungs at the sight of the doctor. Shizuo grabbed the girl and ran down the stairs, his mind racing to come up with reasons why. 

Why would the girl scream like that when she saw Shinra. Maybe Shinra simply looked like one of the girl’s assaulters. Maybe Shinra _was_ someone she’d met at the clinic. The way her eyes almost popped out when she saw Shinra didn’t make it seem like it was some sort of mistake.

Izaya ran after him, pleading him to stop and think for a moment, but all Shizuo could focus on was the girl that was falling apart in his arms. She was young, too young to have been subjected to something like that, her mental state torn to shreds. He took her to the closest hospital, where they sedated her proper and she finally fell asleep. He didn’t have the heart to try and question her, deciding to give her a night’s rest before the questions had to be asked.

Izaya was sitting outside the patient room, eyes narrowed, hands clutching onto the hospital guest-pass.

“No matter what Shinra did,” he spoke sharply, his voice slicing through the thick air between them, “you made a _promise_.”

“Even if it’s a murder?” Shizuo barked, staring him down.

“Shinra wouldn’t murder.”

A nurse walked over to chastise them, appalled by their loud voices, and Shizuo decided that was more than enough for the day. He made sure that Izaya left the hospital, too.

 

!

 

His mind was heavy and tired when he woke up the next day. 

Little by little, he began to piece a few things together. Izaya knew a lot more than he had let on, that much was a given by now. Hence him bringing up Shinra’s name the moment they sat down in that cafe after a whole year of no-contact. He knew Shinra was somehow involved.

 _Nothing is free_. The words Izaya said last night played in Shizuo’s mind like a mantra, finally coming together to make some sense. Shizuo had always assumed that Izaya helped his cases because of the sheer opportunity to mock and play with him, and that might have been the case in the past. Not this time around, though. This time seemed more serious, because Izaya _behaved_ , he was less annoying than usual, as if he was personally _invested_ in the way things unfolded. 

From start, Izaya’s investment had been Shinra. Shizuo gave him a promise, but he didn’t foresee that the doctor would be involved in a triple-body homicide. Possibilities weighed down on his heart, as he sipped his morning milk, buttoning up the slightly crumpled shirt. He did a lousy job of ironing that morning, too absorbed in his thoughts. The question that gnawed at him the strongest was how much Izaya knew. Shinra and Yagiri, he was aware of that much, but where did it stop? Could Izaya and Shinra both be involved? What the fuck was he supposed to do if both of them were knee-deep in shit? 

Of course, he had to abide by the law, but he was torn nonetheless. Shinra, Izaya — both of them were the people he had known the longest, aside from family. Celty, too. He thought back on the way his mind wavered with doubt at the possibility of Vorona locking up Izaya for good and wondered if he was repeating the warehouse scenario from years back, except in reverse. When Izaya had the opportunity to kill him, he bailed out, returning Shizuo to safety. Were Shizuo’s attempts just as half-hearted? Now that there was a real chance of that becoming reality, Shizuo found himself frozen at an intersection, unsure of which way to turn.

 _I need to be off this case_ , Shizuo thought. _My allegiances are clearly divided_. He postponed the conversation with Tom, deciding to go check on the young woman at the hospital instead.

He wasn’t at all surprised to spot the familiar fur-coat outside the hospital when he pulled up in the proper parking area. Izaya sat on the curbside, legs crossed, speaking to someone on the phone.

“I waited for you,” Izaya gave him a shiny smile and jumped to his feet, shutting his cell-phone. He looked fresh and full of energy, as if they didn’t spend half the last night staking out in a small car.

“Bull,” Shizuo threw over his shoulder, walking past him. “They won’t let anyone but the police talk to the girl. You needed me.”

Izaya didn’t argue. 

“Shizuo Heiwajima, homicide, plus one,” Shizuo said to the woman at the reception desk, slapping down his ID on the metal plate. The receptionist gave him an annoyed look, displeased by the uncalled display of attitude, but Shizuo couldn’t find it in himself to care about manners anymore. He grabbed their passes and marched down the hall, Izaya trailing behind him like a shadow.

The girl looked better, even managing a small smile at the sight of Shizuo. He introduced himself and sat down by the bed.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I have to ask you a couple of questions,” he started, feeling guilty to be bothering someone so frail. She had big innocent eyes that reminded him of Kasuka, only she didn’t hide the pain behind them. The pain burned bright and open, with a desperate edge to it.

“I—” the girl said and went silent, her lips trembling. “I can’t say anything. I don’t remember anything.”

He had interviewed enough people to know that right there was a blatant lie. The girl was understandably scared of the consequences that came with letting information flow.

“Police can protect you,” Shizuo tried to reassure her. “If there is anything that you’re scared of—”

“No,” she shook her head. “That’s not it.” 

Shizuo suppressed a sigh. “Well, how about your name?”

“Mika Harima,” she said that much, but by the end of Shizuo’s interview, that was all he had learned about her. The girl shook her head at every question, remaining in adamant silence. Nothing about the clinic, nothing about where she was running, what she was running from. It wasn’t the first time someone refused to answer his questions, but it was the first time that the silence came from someone so weak and psychologically compromised. It didn’t feel right to try and crack her.

He exited the room, dying for a cigarette, and Izaya looked at him curiously. “I could make her talk,” he offered, a devious smile on his lips. “Breaking people isn’t that hard. If you give me fifteen minutes with her, she’ll give up anything you want to know.”

Shizuo rewarded him with the angriest look he could muster, too tired to voice his disdain. He walked over to the desk and asked the nurse about the girl’s condition, learning that there were no injuries on the girl. A couple of aged scars of ambiguous origin — the nurse suggested cuts, perhaps of the suicidal nature — and Shizuo left with that. He ordered them to keep her under treatment anyway, putting the bills on the city.

“You shouldn’t be with me anymore,” Shizuo said to Izaya when they regrouped outside. Izaya leaned against the shiny black of his car, letting out a loud _tsk_. 

“Where’s the trust, Shizu-chan?” 

He was about to get in the car without him, intending to go forth with the investigation alone when an idea struck his mind. Last night, Izaya immediately identified the building as Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, which meant that he had visited it at least once before. Shizuo didn’t know how much he could stand to be around the liar anymore, but it was a worth shot.

“Get in the fucking car,” he ordered the flea, and Izaya obediently complied.

 

!

 

Namie Yagiri was the president of the company, according to Vorona. When they arrived to the place, Yagiri met them personally, coming down to the lobby from the fifth floor to escort them into her office. It was clear right away that the woman had met Izaya before, with the way her eyes lingered on him.

Her office looked rich, desk made of dark wood, shelves full of awards and trophies. Yagiri was out wrapping up some business that they “interrupted”, and Shizuo took a walk around the room, pausing in front of the weird painting that stretched across one of the walls. The canvas seemed to split into three parts, for what he assumed to be heaven, hell and purgatory.

“The last judgment,” Izaya said, drowning in one of the big leather chairs in front of the desk. Shizuo turned around, and Izaya specified. “By Hieronymus Bosch.”

“It’s pretty menacing,” Shizuo said, taken aback by the punishments depicted in the picture, with impaling and burning and other horrible things.

“God doesn’t hold back if you cross him,” Izaya smiled coldly. “How would Shizu-chan punish sinners?”

The implied double meaning didn’t escape him, and Shizuo answered honestly. “I don’t know. It depends on their crime.” He traced a finger across the spot where a woman was staring into a mirror, distressed. Her punishment seemed light compared to the others. 

“That’s vanity, an offspring of pride,” Izaya got up and stood by him. “Do you know what your sin is?”

“Wrath,” Shizuo answered automatically. “That’s a no-brainer. Yours is either pride or greed, yeah?”

Izaya gave a hearty laugh, then lost the smile. “No. Maybe. I might tell you later.”

“There aren’t that many of them, flea,” Shizuo gave him a small smile that lasted all too short before he frowned again. “You’re not lazy and you barely eat judging from your weight, so it’s either lust or envy.”

“They teach you that at the cop academy?” Izaya shook his head in mild amusement, surprised that Shizuo knew all of the seven deadly sins.

There was a click of heels echoing in the outside hall, and the doors flung open. Yagiri walked in with a commanding air around her, her long black hair flowing behind her.

“Gentlemen,” she gestured towards the chairs and assumed her seat behind the desk. “To what do I owe a visit from a city police detective _and_ one of the most despicable men in the underworld?”

The conversation that followed was unpleasant. 

Yagiri carried an offensive style of dialogue, remaining within the norms of politeness, but attacking him on every corner. He never expected answers from her, though. He knew she’d deny losing any patients the previous night, she feigned complete ignorance of the three murders that were extensively reported in the news, and her reminders that he needed a warrant to be looking deeper were well expected. But he had gotten what he came for — there was an undeniable air of familiarity between her and Izaya, confirming his suspicion that they had worked together in the past. 

Shizuo thanked her for her time, not wanting to waste any more time. He knew he’d be seeing her again, with or without luck.

 

!

 

There was a certain numbness in him when Shizuo told Izaya he wanted to take a shower at his apartment. Izaya’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t mind, off-handedly commenting that Shizuo was getting too comfortable around him. Shizuo grimly thought that it was the other way around.

The feeling was foreign to him because he hadn’t had it in a while. He’d grown over the years, matured even. The rage that was boiling up within him was a ghost from the past that he’d rather not meet again, but then again Izaya had always been keen on undoing whatever work Shizuo did when it came to taming his temper. It was a full-fledged hobby to the informant, honed to perfection through the years.

Shizuo slammed him into the wall the moment they entered the apartment, closing the heavy door shut with a kick of his foot so the neighbors wouldn’t hear anything.

“ _Hands against the fucking wall and spread your legs_ ,” Shizuo growled into Izaya’s ear. 

Izaya resisted against the hold, but taken off-guard by the overwhelming force, he stood no chance. Shizuo pinned his face into the wall, pulling him up by the hairs, his other hand bending Izaya's right arm backwards. 

“Do I need to fucking repeat myself?” Shizuo gave him another shove, and Izaya let out a stifled cry from the pain exerted on the elbow.

“N-No, Shizu-chan, you made yourself very clear,” he breathed into the wall and slowly put his free arm against it, spreading his legs as told. Shizuo quickly performed a well-rehearsed body search, finding two knives and throwing them far away out of reach. They clinked somewhere against the tiled kitchen floor. Once he was disarmed, Shizuo brought both of his hands together for the handcuffing, drawing another grunt from Izaya from the way his arms were locked. 

“We can do it the easy way or the hard way,” Shizuo muttered and sent him flying on the floor. 

Izaya landed hard on his ass and looked up at him with defiance. 

“Well, Shizu-chan wants the hard way, doesn’t he?” he bared his teeth in a sharp smile. He didn’t look scared or surprised — he looked like a child eager to open a Christmas present, except a hundred times more malicious in his greed and anticipation.

Every inch of Shizuo’s being cried for violence; the smirk, the lying eyes, the crazy glee — they enraged him to a point where all he wanted to do was to reduce that face into a pitiful, unrecognizable mess, remind Izaya of the place that he held in the world. Shizuo knew he could get away with it, too. For once in his life Izaya needed him if he wanted to have a chance to save Shinra at all. He would accept this beating and keep quiet about it, and it was a hard fact of reality that he fucking deserved one. He had it coming for so long, it was a miracle that no one had delivered it to him yet.

He seethed with rage, sharp intakes of air cutting through his nostrils. His vision blurred white, but the target was picture-clear in front of him, down on his knees, arms locked behind him. 

“Don’t make me do it, Izaya,” Shizuo exhaled, forcing himself to turn around, to look away. It felt like he was moving in a dream, each movement so heavy and strained. If he couldn’t see him, he could still make it back.

“You know you _want_ to.”

There was an inviting melody in the singsong voice, as if Izaya was playing the devil to lull Shizuo into submission. _Do it_ , the voice begged, encouraging him to go all-out. That’s what Izaya had always wanted to observe in him, what he’d been trying to bring out all these years. He was fully prepared to die for the sake of turning him into a monster.

Shizuo took a deep breath that hitched in his lungs, finally finding the right answer. The rage that clouded his vision slowly dissipated, giving way to reason. He abhorred Izaya just like he hated violence, so there was no way he would play into Izaya’s hands and gift him the satisfaction of seeing what he wanted to see. Instead, he had a better idea where things would play out the way _Shizuo_ wanted it, with the beating or without.

He squatted in front of him, banging their foreheads together. The impact was minimal; he felt Izaya’s ragged breathing against his face and caught a streak of worry running through the previously excited eyes. Shizuo grabbed Izaya’s jaw, drawing him even closer. Their noses touched, and he could see the skin on Izaya’s face scrunch up. 

“Either you talk, Izaya-kun,” Shizuo began calmly, uttering each word right into the informant’s mouth, “or I bring another cop over here, and _trust me_ , he won’t have an issue beating you to a pulp.” 

Izaya must have sensed it wasn’t a bluff because for the first time since they came here he stiffened in his place. There was nothing for him to gain if the beating was done by someone else, and the premature celebration of victory disappeared from his expression, replaced by hatred and disgust.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Izaya hissed, his voice betraying a note of despair. He tried to free his face from the grip, but Shizuo intended to hold it until Izaya surrendered. His fingers sunk deeper into the cheeks, drawing another hiss from Izaya’s throat. 

Of course, Izaya wouldn’t surrender that easily. He remained still in his grip, for once having nothing to say. With a heavy sigh, Shizuo threw his hand up, craning Izaya’s neck and shoving him on the floor. He reached for his radio and walked over to look outside the ceiling-tall windows. It was a bright and lively day outside, a stark contrast to the darkness Shizuo felt weighing in on his heart.

“Shizuo Heiwajima, homicide, yeah, I need back-up at…” he read the address, staring at the cars down below driving around like little ants. “I need officer Kaga specifically, could you reach him for me? Thanks.”

He put the radio back on the belt, resolved to go through with it. Kaga he knew from back when he worked narcotics. The man had a knack for brutality and never turned down an opportunity to beat a soul up. Shizuo despised him almost as much as he hated Izaya, but this time he actually needed someone who would use their fists without questions.

“Call off the dogs, Shizu-chan,” Izaya spoke up, laid out on the floor and staring at the ceiling. “What is it that you want to know?”

Defeat in both voice and expression, Izaya didn’t look annoying for once. Shizuo slowly nodded in approval and spoke into his radio, calling off the order.

“Glad you can see reason, flea,” Shizuo walked behind him, sitting down to prop him up so Izaya would sit up straight. Izaya wouldn’t play along, falling lifeless against Shizuo’s chest instead. Shizuo shrugged, Izaya’s weight being miniscule, and gave the handcuffs a tentative tug, wondering if he should take them off. The delicate skin on Izaya’s hands was roughed up and reddened, which was ridiculous because Shizuo didn’t even hurt him that much, but maybe he misjudged his strength again. “I need to know what’s between you and Yagiri. And what you know about Shinra’s involvement.”

Izaya shuddered against him, his small body trembling. It took a few moments before it was clear that Izaya was soundlessly laughing. “That’s _all_ , Shizu-chan? You have complete control over me, and that’s all you want?” The back of his head buried deeper into Shizuo’s chest, shaking in disappointment.

“The fuck else would I want from you, flea?” Shizuo sighed, thinking Izaya to be delusional. In an off-hand gesture, he trailed his palm across Izaya’s forehead, brushing away sweat-drenched bangs. “You really do overestimate your importance in my life.”


	3. World in Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (There's very little plot movement in this chapter and the one after.)
> 
> Chapter title refers to the song "The Only Thing Worth Fighting For" by Lera Lynn.

Defeat suited Izaya.

Shizuo scooped him off the floor and placed him on top of the kitchen counter. Izaya reluctantly sat up, looking anywhere but at Shizuo and mostly at his own dangling legs. Shizuo didn’t know if the childish pout was one of Izaya’s carefully performed acts, but somehow, facing defeat didn’t seem like a scenario the informant had a lot of practice with. Shizuo chose to believe that Izaya was genuinely upset.

There was no denying that Shizuo was relishing the sight. Triumph was sweet and long-awaited, and he wondered how often he could pull the “other cops will beat you up in my place” card before Izaya figured out a way to trump it. There was little time to celebrate the victory though, because questions about the case loomed over him, spoiling the afterglow of his victory with their urgency.

“Start with Shinra,” Shizuo ordered, and so began his walk across the minefield that was Izaya Orihara’s idea for a conversation.

Little by little, Izaya reluctantly gave up three important pieces of information.

Yagiri was involved in human trafficking. Izaya mentioned that it was mostly harmless, focused on research that couldn’t be approved by the ethics board. 

Shinra was put up with Yagiri through Izaya. As far as Izaya knew, Shinra helped the clinic with surgeries that their licensed doctors wouldn’t perform, including plastic surgeries on women to make them look more attractive.

Lastly, Izaya let it slip that he had been investigating Yagiri Pharmaceuticals for a while now, trying to establish a link between the facility and a certain man named Jinnai Yodogiri.

“Who is he?” Shizuo asked, his hand twitching a little. He kept his cool, because the hand was holding a glass of milk. His patience started running dangerously thin the moment he heard the confirmation on Shinra’s involvement. Cosmetic surgery on young women that were possibly enslaved? How was that even remotely okay?

“A mystery,” Izaya smiled. He shifted his legs a bit, looking restless. “He’s the first person in existence that I can’t actually track down. Like, find any bit of information at all.”

“How do you know he even exists?”

“Oh, he does,” Izaya cooed. “He’s behind a lot of the fires in this city. Yagiri is just one of his many puppets.”

“Tell me, Izaya-kun,” Shizuo said with a low growl. “Now why the fuck would you put Shinra up with these people?”

Shinra could make his own decisions, but did Izaya have to be the devil that arranged soul-selling transactions like that?

“Shinra’s a big boy,” Izaya scoffed. “I merely set up a meeting between them. Yagiri came to me looking for an underground doctor, I provided her with one. That’s kind of my job, you know? People come to me looking for things, I think of ways to make their wishes come true.”

Shizuo shook his head, heavy with judgment.

It had always been like that. Izaya’s way of justifying his actions, the lack of distinction between the good and the bad, the choice to help both. A fat load of bullshit, because that was no way to live. Maybe Shizuo’s way of thinking was too black and white, but it was _his_ way. He could feel it when one thing was wrong, and another right. Izaya, as far as Shizuo could see, hid behind a veil of nonsense, either too twisted or too scared to deal with important differences between good and bad, preferring to just absorb it all. It was fucked up because Izaya didn’t possess a real fixed personality — he was too fluid, alternating between masks on a whim. The only thing that remained constant was his insistence that everyone was equal to him, aside from Shizuo.

Izaya shifted in his seat, arching his neck to look back at his cuffed hands. Shizuo couldn’t see what the big deal was, there was no way the cuffs caused him any discomfort. Flea’s hands were so small, he could probably slip out of them with some effort and a peel of skin. Shizuo hadn’t bothered adjusting them to Izaya’s wrist-size at the time, going with the average fit. 

“Izaya-kun,” Shizuo said, looking up to lock eyes with him. “Do you ever feel bad?”

“Sure,” Izaya gave a nod, quick and sharp, as if the question made perfect sense to him. Shizuo expected him to be at least a little surprised at the spontaneity of it. “I feel bad quite often.”

“What kinda things make you feel bad?”

“Well, I’m feeling pretty blue right now,” Izaya admitted, eyes as honest as the flea was capable of. “Losing to Shizu-chan feels the worst, actually.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” Shizuo frowned. Losing to Izaya made him feel bad, too, but that wasn’t what he was talking about. “I mean, when you go and ruin someone’s life, do you ever regret it?”

“Whose life did I ruin?” Izaya blinked innocence.

“Mine, for starters,” Shizuo barked, rapidly losing interest in the conversation. He was a fool to think that Izaya would say anything of value. Hell would freeze over before fleas said things they meant.

“Your life seems pretty good to me,” Izaya shifted in his seat some more, moving his shoulders as if he was messing with the handcuffs. “If anything, my games with you made you stronger. You should thank me.”

Shizuo gulped down the last of milk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Thank Izaya for terrorizing his life? What a joke.

“I’m going out for now,” he said, sizing Izaya up. “You stay here and wait for me to come back, okay?”

“Okay,” Izaya agreed amiably. He smiled mischief, fidgeted a little more, and then extended his arms in a cat-like stretch, purring out a yawn. The handcuffs were then neatly placed on the counter, and he nudged them closer in Shizuo’s direction. “Returning these to you now. I didn’t like the handcuff play too much, by the way. Next time blindfold or tie me up?” he finished with a playful wink, bringing his hands together to massage the reddened skin.

Shizuo swept up the handcuffs from the counter and walked past, giving him a small smack on the head. The joke seemed a little desperate, as if Izaya was dying to get a reaction from him in any way possible. He had been heeding Vorona’s advice, though, ignoring the shit that came out of Izaya’s mouth.

 

!

 

He stood by the curbside, his foot against the metal railing that fended off the sidewalk from car traffic. It had rained again, so there was that fresh clean feeling in the air, but Shizuo yearned for his due dose of nicotine. Relief spread through his being, beginning with the very first drag of a cigarette, and he craned his neck, looking up at the patches of the sky he could see in-between the skyscrapers. Despite the fresh air and the soothed addiction, he felt terrible — it felt like his lungs couldn’t take a full enough breath, each one falling a little short of something.

There had to be a grain of truth in the lies Izaya had spewed back at the apartment. But the extent of it remained unknown, and Shizuo didn’t exclude the possibility that all of it was meant to mislead him. Izaya had his own stakes in the game, and at this point Shizuo wouldn’t be surprised if Shinra was just an excuse — Izaya seemed to be unhealthily fixated on that mysterious man named Jinnai Yodogiri. He didn’t at all like the way Izaya’s eyes glistened with danger when he first mentioned him.

Either way, he had to disagree with Vorona a little bit. Talking to Izaya was inefficient and frustrating, but blame it on exposure or not, Shizuo was beginning to understand the language of Izaya’s lies. Even if the information was largely wrong, it still revealed enough bits for Shizuo to cling to. After all, lies had to be made of something, and more often than not, their foundation lied in some form of truth, one way or another.

Determined to weave through the web of lies, Shizuo went to Shinra’s. This visit had to go without Izaya’s presence, because he was interested in hearing Shinra’s version of the story. Izaya didn’t reveal much about Shinra’s role with Yagiri, and Shizuo felt increasingly burdened by the promise he’d given to Izaya. Depending on the extent of his activities with Yagiri, Shinra could very well be way past whatever “saving” Shizuo could do for him.

On top of that, Shinra hadn’t even bothered to call him since that incident with the screaming girl at night. That realization irritated Shizuo — how indifferent could the doctor remain, when a former “patient” of his reacted that severely to him?

Shinra looked somewhat guilty, though, quieter than normal and wearing that apologetic smile that he usually reserved for his fuck-ups with Celty.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Shizuo said sternly and gave Celty a grateful nod for the cup of tea she placed in front of him.

He wasn’t really mad anymore, because deep down he knew that unlike Izaya’s, Shinra’s mishaps were never malevolent in nature. Still, he had to give him a talking to.

“It seems so,” Shinra chuckled awkwardly, sitting across the table. He rubbed his nose, flashing nervous looks at Celty. She was probably the reason he even began to feel guilty in the first place, her opinion being absolute to him. “What did Izaya-kun say?”

“He said that he brought you to Yagiri to do favors for the clinic, some illegal shit,” Shizuo said, growing more dismal with each uttered word. “Just what kinda mess did you get into, Shinra? What did you do to that girl?”

“I made her look like a painting that Namie-san gave me. I mean, the girl agreed to it — she seemed more excited for it than the other people I operated on there.”

“Other people?”

“About every month or so, they have me operate on a new woman to make her look more attractive. Facial adjustments, breast augmentations, all that stuff…” Shinra trailed off, trying to remember. “It isn’t really as bad as it sounds. The women consent to the forms and everything.”

“Did you ever ask to look at the women’s passports? See if they’re Japanese?”

Shinra shook his head. “You know how things work on our side of the world, we don’t really ask questions. But I don’t think those women were illegal immigrants, if that’s what you’re asking. They really did seem to be there willingly.”

“Unbelievable,” Shizuo muttered, gritting the cigarette between his teeth. “Well, when’s your next _appointment_?”

“I don’t have one. They don’t usually schedule things; they call me up at night and I make my way there.”

“Well, that ends now,” Shizuo said, leaving no room for argument. “I swear to god, Shinra, if you don’t cut ties with them now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you.”

“Help me?” Shinra blinked, and Celty, who had kept quiet the entire time, shuddered in her seat, hurrying to type up her thoughts on the PDA.

[Is Shinra in trouble? Were those women there against their wish?]

“I don’t know,” Shizuo sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You read the news? The three bodies found in dumpsters? There’s a link between them and Yagiri Pharmaceuticals. That girl who got scared shitless when she saw Shinra has the same scar around her neck as the victims.”

Shinra’s smile faded, and he and Celty exchanged a look, unintentional on Celty’s part.

“I’ll do my best to leave you out of this,” Shizuo said through his teeth. “Normally, I wouldn’t bend the law this much, but I accidentally made—” he stopped himself short before finishing the sentence. There was no way he was admitting having made a promise to Izaya in front of another human being.

“Made a what?” Shinra asked, oblivious.

“Nothing,” Shizuo blurted, hurrying to move on. “Did you hear what I said? About not doing any more sketchy shit for a while, at least until my investigation is over?”

“Yes, yes,” Shinra hastily nodded, looking guilty. “Sorry for the trouble, Shizuo-kun.”

Celty extended her hands out with the PDA, raising it high, which usually meant that she really meant what she typed.

[Thank you, Shizuo. You have no idea how much we appreciate your help.]

Shizuo smiled at her, reassuring her that it wasn’t a big deal, and her kind features warmed his heart. Maybe he could look at it in a different way: he could do this for Celty’s sake, instead of feeling like he owed something to Izaya.

“Is Izaya-kun, uh, okay?” Shinra asked cautiously. “You didn’t do anything to him, did you?”

“He’s fine,” Shizuo frowned. “You know I haven’t laid a finger on him since I graduated.”

“Phew. If you were this mad at me, I shudder to think what kind of faces Izaya had to observe on you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, Izaya’s part is certainly more culpable, right?” Shinra scratched at his ear, as if deliberating the truth of that statement. “After all, even I had an issue with him providing a list of targets for Yagiri to kidnap.”

— _Crack!_ went the glass in his hand that Celty just gave him. Milk exploded all over the table and his arm, flowing across the table and inside his shirt cuffs, and shards of glass sliced the thin skin of his palm. Shizuo looked down to watch milk mix up with blood, trailing down his forearm, but the pain didn’t quite register yet. Shinra ran towards his office for bandages, and Celty punched something into her PDA, but Shizuo couldn’t really see the text, his mind forced out-of-focus.

He didn’t know why he was so shocked to hear what he had just heard, but reality didn’t care about his expectations or about the way he wanted things to be. He had always suspected the worst of Izaya, but being part of a criminal conspiracy involving human trafficking was a new low even for him. In fact, there wasn’t much below that.

“Kidnap?” he said in a hollow voice when Shinra came back, carrying med supplies. “What the fuck do you know about kidnapping? You said—”

“Well, I didn’t operate on those kidnapped targets, no,” Shinra said carefully, keeping his distance. “But they take in homeless people off the streets to perform some sort of experiments on them, I think. Nothing harmful, as far as I know, but—”

“Fucking hell,” Shizuo breathed out. “And flea told them who to kidnap? This gets fucking worse by the minute.”

Shinra made his way towards him, but Shizuo raised his uninjured hand to keep him off. “It’s fine,” he said. “Sorry about the mess.”

[You really should let Shinra take care of that, or it might get infected] read Celty’s screen of concern.

Shizuo started the meticulous task of plucking pieces of glass out of his hand, thinking over all the things Izaya had said to him. He supposed it shouldn’t have affected him so much that Izaya left his own involvement out of the picture; self-preservation demanded it. Lawful or not, Shizuo didn’t think he could control himself if Izaya was the one to deliver this great news.

“There’s a silver lining here for you, right?” Shinra said, a little too cheerful. “At least you can finally arrest him, if you manage to pull the case together.”

Shizuo glared at him with disapproval, the doctor’s indifference to his own friend irritating as usual. Izaya was a piece of shit, but he cared about Shinra, and sometimes Shizuo wished Shinra would be more of a friend to Izaya, too. Maybe then Izaya wouldn’t have evolved into such a terrible person over the years. That line of thinking was inherently flawed, of course — the only person to blame for Izaya’s twisted personality was the flea’s own damn self. Still, a little sympathy from Shinra couldn’t hurt.

“Would you testify?” Shizuo wondered, cringing from the pain when he carved out the biggest shard. “Against him?”

“If I had to, I guess?” Shinra answered, uncertain. “I don’t think I would, but you know how I am. I try to stay away from things that involve the law.”

Well, Shinra wouldn’t be winning any “Best Friend” awards any time soon.

Shizuo reached for the bandages and managed to wrap his hand up. Shinra would have done a much better job at it, but Shizuo was still too pissed about a lot of things to let himself be taken care of by the doctor.

“One last thing,” Shizuo glanced at the door that led to Masaomi Kida’s room. “How’s the kid?”

“He’s doing great,” Shinra chirped. “Well on the way to complete recovery.”

“Can I talk to him?”

Shinra looked at him as if Shizuo said something completely idiotic. “No?”

“Why not?” Shizuo snapped. “He’s my witne—”

“His jaw was grazed by a bullet, Shizuo-kun,” Shinra raised his hands as if in defense against the angry tone. “He can’t talk right now. Maybe in a week or so. I actually have to get some complicated—”

Shizuo stopped listening, because that was the last straw. He slowly got up and left the apartment, not bothering with saying goodbye to the hosts.

He was a fool to think that he felt terrible earlier. The true abyss was just starting to form at his heart, because Shinra just had to go and pierce another hole in it. Between the news about Izaya’s true involvement with Yagiri and the fact that Masaomi couldn’t possibly have said anything to Izaya about Adabashi, the entire chain of links and events had shattered. Everything was a lie, and Shizuo’s head spiraled in an attempt to grasp at a string of truth somewhere, _anywhere_.

Vorona was right. Lies were way too confusing — you couldn’t dig the truth out when the pile of shit was this deep. But it wasn’t like Shizuo could focus on Izaya’s actions instead — the slippery flea barely made a move, relying on his cell-phones and his extensive network of connections to carry out his business. There was nothing to track. Izaya Orihara was a big fat lie, and Shizuo should have never gotten involved with him in the first place.

 

!

 

He dragged his feet to the office, feeling like life was sucked out of him.

As far as he was concerned, the case was over. Kida’s link never existed in the first place — Izaya made it up in order to create a connection to Adabashi, god only knew why. Everything was undermined, crossed over with a bold question mark, and most importantly, Shizuo was so _done_ with Izaya.

His inner rage must have reflected on his face, because people made a point to keep a bigger distance from him than usual. Vorona was the only one who greeted him with a look of concern, instantly abandoning her desk that drowned under a pile of files. She walked over to his seat and stood by his side until Shizuo spoke. She had funny ideas of how hierarchy worked, sometimes waiting for permission to speak in his presence, taking Shizuo’s role of being her senpai very seriously.

“My case is dead,” he said in complete defeat. “Yours?”

“Mine is going well,” Vorona reported. “Senpai doesn’t look too good.”

“You don’t say,” Shizuo managed a smile.

“Does senpai’s hand require assistance?” Vorona asked, lifting his arm in the air and scrutinizing the bandages that were coming undone. Shizuo hurried to retrieve his arm, embarrassed.

“No, it’s all good. It’s nothing, really.”

Normal people would be in a whole lot more pain, but Shizuo didn’t even think on it. Infections didn’t scare him either. He had never fallen sick once in his entire life, though he kept that secret from his friends. Half of him felt like it would be too close to bragging, the other half feared being associated with an unnatural monster even more than he already was.

Vorona acknowledged his desire to ignore it, easily adopting it as her own view, though it was clear that she was concerned.

“My case might be related to senpai’s. Would that make senpai happier?” she asked instead.

Shizuo rubbed at his temples. He felt so done with the case, but he was still the primary on it, so he had no choice but to nod. She began filling him in, pulling up the appropriate files off of her desk. Her new case was a double-homicide that looked like your typical turf war casualties, but on closer inspection, Vorona found that the killings were most likely related to that Masaomi kid. The two bodies were higher up the link above Masaomi, but under Adabashi, and the word on the street was that a certain person named Mikado Ryuugamine was looking for information on Masaomi Kida. At first, Shizuo perked up at the information, but then deflated again.

“Well, I found out my kid never spoke to Izaya about Adabashi,” Shizuo complained, dropping his head on the arms he folded on the desk.

“Irrelevant,” Vorona refuted. “The Adabashi link to Yagiri Pharmaceuticals is too strong to deny now. And I have confirmed that Adabashi was indeed Kida’s supplier.”

“How did you find out about this? Who’s your informant?”

“A young woman, she’s a classmate to both Masaomi Kida and Mikado Ryuugamine. They attend Raira University,” Vorona slid the appropriate file in front of him. A young girl in glasses, though her supposed age clashed against the serious demeanor that she was sporting.

“Youth these days are scary…” Shizuo muttered under his breath. Back when he and Izaya were eighteen, all they did was wreck the city a little bit. Izaya probably got involved in sketchy stuff even then, but Shizuo was confident that he stayed away from drugs, leaving those games to his “beloved” humans.

“Senpai should not despair.”

Vorona placed a stiff hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. Shizuo put his palm on top of her hand, fondly thinking back on the time when he “taught” her that gesture, and how she took it so seriously, putting it to use every time he felt down.

Her words comforted him, but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t know about Izaya’s involvement, and if Shizuo was frank with himself, he’d admit that Izaya’s lies were 90% responsible for the way he was feeling at the moment. He wished that Izaya would just trust him, not for any kind of sentimental reason or anything like that, but simply because it seemed incredibly unfair and unnecessary to be spinning a web of lies this big. What was the point of dragging Shizuo along? Considering Izaya’s resources, it should have been a cakewalk for him to paint whatever picture he wanted with the murders. Manipulate Yagiri into denying Shinra’s involvement, find out Adabashi’s activities on his own, the possibilities were endless… Shizuo was certain that Izaya’s ways of getting information were a lot more powerful than simple car tailing, and he remained clueless as to why Izaya was so hell-bent on following Shizuo around.

Frustration abound, Shizuo was determined to quit the case. He had all the reason to do so — regardless of their affiliations and Shizuo’s feelings on either, both Shinra and Izaya were more than enough to spell out a conflict of interest for the detective. Even if he denied being friends with them, their connections dated way back in the day, and the defense attorney wouldn’t ever pass up on the chance of bringing that up. It could compromise the integrity of the entire case. _Unless_ , Shizuo thought grimly, _I left both of them out completely_. But at this point, the case wasn’t even close to forming into anything coherent, and god knew Shizuo could not stand being near Izaya anymore.

With these thoughts in mind, he waited until Tom was done with his calls for the day and knocked on his door.

“Come in,” Tom called, and his features softened when he saw it was Shizuo at the door.

“Hey, Tom-san,” Shizuo greeted him and took a seat when he was gestured in.

“Not going well, huh?” Tom read his face instantly. “Izaya getting on your nerves?”

“I want to be removed from the case,” Shizuo blurted in one breath, feeling deeply ashamed. He never liked being a quitter, especially in front of Tom whom he respected so much.

Tom gave him a long, thoughtful look before he said, “It’s not like you to give up. Is it that bad?”

As usual, he told him everything. Tom frowned at the news of human trafficking, but in general, he didn’t seem too surprised. Shizuo made sure to stress just how much he suspected Izaya, making a grim joke that the informant might very well be this Jinnai Yodogiri that he mentioned, orchestrating everything for the simple reason of being bored.

“Well,” Tom paused to let that settle in. “You definitely can’t quit after telling me that.”

“But—”

“You just told me that Izaya, as far as you are concerned, is your primary suspect.”

“Yeah, but—”

He wasn’t _that_ serious about the joke; Izaya was pretty bad, but Shizuo didn’t quite think he was capable of murdering, not directly at least. He could be an accomplice though.

“Keep a close eye on him from now on. Monitor his activity, watch him for a few days; you could do that much, right? You guys always play games of sorts.”

Shizuo stared at him in shock. He just confided in Tom that he couldn’t stand to be around Izaya, and his new order was to be around him all the time.

“Sir—”

“You can sleep on it if you like,” Tom offered. “But I really think you’re the right person to be on this case. If Izaya’s involved and he’s the evil dragon, who do you think is the dragonslayer in this city?”

It was interesting of Tom to say that, because Shizuo had often thought of himself that way. He felt a certain responsibility to keep Izaya at bay, as much as was within his power to do so. Dragonslayer would be too big of a word, but Shizuo understood what Tom was trying to say very well.

“What about the case? You want me to put it on hold?”

“This is the case,” Tom gave him a small smile. “Ruling out Izaya as a suspect would do significant wonders in its progress. And confirming him as a suspect sends it forward by miles.”

Shizuo hesitantly nodded, feeling out the words for himself. “If Tom-san thinks it necessary, I suppose it’s worth a try,” he said, still wildly uncertain. “I have Vorona working on a warrant on Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, though we’re not getting our hopes up on that end. The PC is too weak.”

“That’s okay, something else will come by,” Tom reassured him. “Do you need help with that?” he waved his hand at Shizuo’s.

“No, I’m good, sir,” Shizuo moved his hand behind himself, inwardly cursing himself for feeling like a little kid that got hurt playing outside. He was twenty-six, for chrissake.

They talked for a little longer, but Tom had more work to do, and Shizuo got up to leave. He was about to exit through the door, when Tom called to say one last thing.

“Shizuo?”

“Yes?”

“Try to take it easy for a few days? You look worse than you have in years.”

“You give me conflicting orders,” Shizuo smiled bitterly. Being around Izaya and taking it easy simply didn’t come together. “But I will try, sir.”

Armed with newfound resolve to see things through, Shizuo marched through the squad-room, grabbing the umbrella that Izaya had given him yesterday. He was planning to stop by his own apartment to pick up a pack of fresh clothes, his toothbrush and other things that he’d need to have for the next few days. He didn’t know if Izaya would play along, but frankly, he didn’t care one bit.

Izaya wasn’t in any position to refuse, not after everything he’d put him through.

 

!

 

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

Those were the words that greeted him when Shizuo entered the dimly lit apartment. He kicked off his shoes and strode across the room, unceremoniously throwing his stuff on the couch and carefully propping the umbrella against the wall.

Izaya was sitting at his desk, his pale face illuminated by the blue glow of the screen in front of him.

“What’s that?” he asked curiously, craning his neck to look over the monitor to analyze the contents of Shizuo’s half-opened bag.

“I’m staying over for a couple days. Since we’re both working on the case, I figure we just keep close for a while, bounce ideas off each other and whatnot,” Shizuo announced, trying not to sound too sarcastic. He shoved his bag to the edge of the couch and laid out on it with a groan. It felt good to stretch out his limbs after a long day.

“You’re crazy,” Izaya stared. “I have a job, Shizu-chan. It revolves around managing sensitive information, and therefore I need my privacy.”

“Not up to discussion, flea,” Shizuo said tiredly. “You fucked me so hard and so many times, you really can’t mount enough defense to top that.”

Izaya slid off his chair and stood over the couch, scanning Shizuo’s body. The beast looked unbendable in his conviction, as if something snapped within him. It was a curious view, especially after what happened in the afternoon — Izaya got majorly out-played by Shizuo’s new trick of threatening second-hand violence. To see him come back so defeated was a stark contrast to the earlier, cheeky Shizuo, and Izaya was dying to learn what happened when he was out.

“I fucked you?” Izaya purred a question. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Don’t even start,” Shizuo growled. “You fucked me over so hard, you pretty much drilled a new hole in me.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Izaya giggled.

He tugged at Shizuo’s shirt, but the beast didn’t move an inch, arm draped over his eyes as if he wanted to shut off the entire world. The hand was wrapped up in dirtied bandages that were falling apart, and Izaya pulled on one end to untangle them, revealing small slices of skin hanging off the hand. Some of the cuts looked deep and disturbing, the blood still colored bright even in the dark. Izaya scrunched up his nose, dismayed by the sight. Blood and gore weren’t his cup of tea.

“What happened to your hand?”

“Make an educated guess,” Shizuo muttered. “Oh, and make yourself useful for once and fix it proper.”

“Your ordering me around is getting out of hand.”

Shizuo didn’t answer, only huffing in anger.

“Alright,” Izaya conceded, realizing that Shizuo wasn’t in the mood for games.

Shizuo lifted the arm off his eyes, surprised. “That easy?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well, I do owe you for Shinra, don’t I?” Izaya smiled brightly and skipped off to the bathroom.

When he came back with bandages and a needle, Shizuo reluctantly sat up, careful not to smudge the blood on the couch. The pain was growing, pulsating inside the cuts, as if the hand was complaining about being ignored for so long. Izaya did a swell job of fixing it, his dexterity with small objects extending past wielding knives and daggers. Still, the bastard pretended to mess up at one point and stab one of the open wounds with the needle, and Shizuo pulled him up by the ear, threatening to shove that needle somewhere indecent if the flea didn’t behave. Things calmed down after, with Shizuo ending up with a fully-patched hand and Izaya remaining relatively unharmed. His ear was burning, though.

“So how do you think this is going to work?” Izaya asked, skeptical. He sat on the other edge of the couch, his arm propped against the back. “Are you really planning to monitor me all day long?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Am I a suspect now?” Izaya’s eyes lit up. “Always wanted to be a suspect in a big case. What happened to the presumption of innocence, though?”

“There’s not an ounce of innocence in you so the law makes an exception for you. Can’t presume something that’s known to be missing, right?”

Shizuo didn’t really want to talk to Izaya about what he’d discovered. Now would be the time to accuse him of all the lies he spewed, like the Masaomi link or the fact that he’d cooperated with Yagiri on more than just arranging a meet-up with Shinra, but Shizuo knew very well that that conversation would lead nowhere. Izaya would come up with more lies, and for the first time in his life, Shizuo wondered if he was too honest with Izaya. He was honest with everyone, rarely feeling the need to hide things, but with someone as dangerous as Izaya, maybe keeping your hand close to the vest was the way to go. He decided to hold onto his discovered lies, planning to see how Izaya would work with the assumption that Shizuo knew nothing.

“How awful of you to suspect your partner,” Izaya chided him. “You want me to surrender my phones? I could go off-line for a few days for you to believe me. It’d actually be my first vacation in years.”

“You would do that?” Shizuo asked, incredulous. The idea crossed his mind, but he never once thought that Izaya would go along with something like that.

“Sure,” Izaya smiled and unloaded three cell-phones on the couch, right off the bat. How they fit in Izaya’s skinny jeans was beyond Shizuo. “Let me go grab the rest of them.”

He came back with a handful of more phones and an unfolded newspaper.

“Almost forgot; you made the newspaper today!”

He shoved the newspaper in front of him, opening it on one of the starting pages. POLICE REMAIN SILENT ON MURDER OF THREE WOMEN. Shizuo skimmed through the usual bullshit the reporters went for, always jumping on the chance to portray them as the bad guys, then slapped the paper away with a scoff. Izaya withdrew it, chuckling.

“They don’t like you very much.”

“Yeah, that comes with the job description,” Shizuo sighed, then sprawled across the couch to reach for his bag. He could kill for a smoke, his mind puzzled by the unusual fit of cooperation that came from Izaya. It had to be another game, but what was Izaya looking to gain? Shizuo’s trust? Even if Izaya was disconnected for days doing nothing, that wouldn’t really clear Shizuo’s suspicion of him. Unless some other development surfaced, but would that even mean Izaya was innocent? There would be no indication that the events weren’t set in motion in advance.

“How do I know these are all of them?” Shizuo asked, swiping the phones up and stuffing them into his bag.

“You don’t, so I guess you’ll have to trust my word on that.”

They sat in silence, Shizuo exhaling his repressed anger in the form of cigarette smoke. Izaya played with a strand of his hair, quietly humming an unfamiliar tune.

“Why are you so goddamn happy?” Shizuo gave him a sidelong glance. Izaya seemed to be in a particularly good mood, which was insufferable by itself.

“Some good things happened today,” Izaya said vaguely, then got up. “Well, let me show you your bedroom, since you’ll be my guest for a few days.”

Shizuo shuffled his feet after Izaya, and the sight of a king-size bed with impeccable covers made him feel a little better. He was dying to pass out on the cool sheets, dreams being a small reprieve from the hell that was his life these days.

“Flea, just so you know, everyone knows I’m here. You won’t wiggle out of it if something happens to me,” he warned, to make sure Izaya knew what a stupid idea it would be to try and hurt him. Sleeping with a flea just a few doors away made him more than a little uneasy, but he was reasonably sure that it was fine. Izaya had stopped trying to physically harm him in a serious way after the warehouse incident. Still, old habits died hard.

Izaya pretended to look appalled. “Hmm? I’ve never had a sleep-over guest before, but I think I know the rules of hospitality.”

With those words, he turned on his heels and left the room, finally leaving Shizuo alone.


	4. My Small Reprieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The OOC intensifies. I regret nothing (c)
> 
> Chapter title refers to the song "The Only Thing Worth Fighting For" by Lera Lynn.

The next day and the days after, Shizuo had Izaya follow him everywhere. He took him to the station, where Izaya got to meet his squad room. The other detectives expressed an active interest in finally meeting the infamous informant, and pretty soon Izaya was the center of attention, hitting it off with pretty much everyone but Vorona, who remained indifferent.

Izaya could really be the heart of any company, if he put his energy into it. The stories, the pretense of friendliness, the charming smiles — he sat on one of the detectives’ desks, and his squad-mates took _turns_ to ask Izaya’s input on things, amazed by his perception and knowledge of human nature. Most of the questions revolved around social situations and dilemmas, and Izaya masterfully weaved through them, maintaining the most sympathetic character throughout the entire time.

Shizuo grew more irritated as the day progressed, struggling to focus on his paper-work when the laughter a few stalls away was so loud and obnoxious. Eventually, he shoved the papers back in his drawer — it could wait anyway — and dragged Izaya away, claiming they had a lead to investigate.

“Well, unfortunately, I have to go,” Izaya sang apologetically and jumped off the desk. “See you around, guys!”

The mini-crowd dispersed, displeased with Shizuo’s interruption, and some of them even glared at him. Shizuo gritted his teeth and shoved Izaya out the door.

“Stop doing that shit,” he barked once they were outside. He couldn’t exactly yell at the informant inside the room, considering how warmly he was received by people.

“What shit?”

“Stop mingling with people like you’re some of kind of samaritan!”

“But I love making friends,” Izaya said, feigning hurt. “People are my source of energy.”

“Bullshit. The only reason you faked being nice was to drive a wedge between me and the other detectives. You know I complain about you all the time. And you know if you make a good impression, it makes me look bad.”

“How perceptive of you,” Izaya brimmed with happiness, pleased that Shizuo caught onto that detail. “Anyway, what was the lead you mentioned?”

Oh, the lead. Shizuo brushed his nose, trying to come up with something that could sound plausible.

“Ah, you don’t have one?” Izaya chuckled, leaning forward to look into his eyes. They stood on the staircase, Shizuo a few steps below Izaya.

“Fuck,” Shizuo exhaled, turning away to hide his frustration.

Great day it turned out to be. Flea talking non-stop, flea making him look like a fool in front of everybody else, flea seeing his embarrassment…

“Let’s just go home, I guess,” Izaya said, merciful, and Shizuo silently thanked him for not kicking him while he was down.

 

!

 

“So where do we go next?” Izaya asked, sprawled-out on the couch and reading a book.

Shizuo sat on the floor, surrounded by files on the case, a pencil tucked behind his ear and a cup of tea by his knee. “I’m thinking we could try talking to the girl at the hospital again,” Shizuo said thoughtfully. He was engrossed in the information they’d collected so far, trying to nit-pick it for inconsistencies or pinpointing any leads they might have missed.

“Can I talk to her?” Izaya lifted his head, eyes lighting up.

“No,” Shizuo said with a scoff. “No breaking people on my watch.”

“Then it’s a waste of time. You’re terrible at interviewing people.”

“Thanks.”

An hour later, Izaya shut his book and threw it at Shizuo. “What a ridiculous ending!” he exclaimed and looked at Shizuo as if he could confirm it.

Shizuo slowly covered his bleeding nose, his left eye twitching. The book hit him right below the bridge, thrown with so much power that it bounced right back towards Izaya.

“Oh,” Izaya slipped off the couch to sit on the floor, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “That really was an accident, Shizu-chan!”

To believe or not to believe? Shizuo’s mind was mostly blank, overcome with the white hot flash of anger, but Izaya looked so honestly distraught that Shizuo slowly willed the rage away. He sniffled, to prevent the annoying streak of blood from trailing down, and grumbled something about having the worst luck on the planet.

“Anyway,” Izaya started again, cautious, “the book really is ridiculous.”

“I’m trying to work here, flea,” Shizuo said tiredly.

“Those files have nothing on them,” Izaya moved over to sit by him, scanning the scattered papers. “Trust me, I went over them. Anyway, listen to me on this one, okay?”

“What is it?” Shizuo sighed, sniffling again. He was too lazy to get something to block off the blood, figuring that it’d stop on its own any moment now.

“So this man, this soldier spends his entire life living in a fortress. His entire life can basically be summed up as waiting for a miracle. In his case — the invasion from the outside. He’s waiting for that grand moment of war where he can prove his worthiness to the country that he serves, the moment of glory and honor that would finally color his life with meaning. In the meantime, his old friends back at his hometown start families, live a fulfilled life, while he’s emotionally crippled and completely solitary. He withers away for thirty or forty years, and the war never comes during his years of service. The enemy strikes when he’s too old and ill, and his superiors dismiss him, despite his protests and pleas. He dies all on his own at some god-forgotten inn, having lived a life that was void of any meaning or connections.”

The more Shizuo listened, the deeper he frowned. That sounded like a terrible life.

“That’s awful,” he said, taken aback. “They should’ve let him die on that battlefield. Why would they be so cruel?”

“No, you don’t understand,” Izaya hurried to correct him, waving the book in the air. “While it is, of course, a commentary on war and military service, it’s actually a reflection of our society — we live our lives working ourselves into a certain routine, always waiting for that one thing to come along and give our daily life some meaning. But the meaning never comes, and humans waste their life away chasing something that has never existed in the first place.”

“Huh? If you say so,” Shizuo said, totally confused by the stream of words. “I mean, yeah, I have a routine, I go to work, but I wouldn’t say I’m waiting for something.”

“Oh, really?” Izaya smiled. “You’re not waiting for the moment where you’re finally accepted by people? When your reputation isn’t that of a freak?”

“That’s a different thing entirely,” Shizuo protested, feeling uncomfortable under Izaya’s perceptive eyes. “I don’t have a version of this invasion fantasy. I’m not waiting until something comes.”

“Well, Shizu-chan is an exception to many rules. I’m talking about the average person.”

“To be honest, the dude kinda sounds like you,” Shizuo sniffled, wiping the blood away. “Obsessed with a fantasy, wastes his life away, dies all on his own.”

Izaya gaped at him, appalled by the insinuation. “He does not!” he exclaimed. “My lifestyle is very exciting, and—”

“You think anyone would care if you died? No, Izaya-kun, I’m pretty sure you’ll die all alone,” Shizuo said and felt a little bad when Izaya’s eyes darkened at the words.

He hated that he was feeling sympathy for someone like Izaya, but he couldn’t exactly help it. Loneliness must have been very familiar to Izaya who was never invited to their social gatherings, birthdays, New Year’s parties. He deserved all of it, but it wasn’t like Shizuo could take joy in rubbing that particular bit about him in his face. After all, Shizuo was intimately familiar with loneliness himself, and he was blessed with a few close friends.

“I’m fine with that,” Izaya gleefully smiled, lighting up again. “You missed my point, but oh well. It’s my fault I expected an intelligent conversation from someone like you.”

With a barely audible huff, he got up and stalked off into his bedroom.

 

! 

 

“You’re not gonna—?” Izaya startled, freezing at the threshold between the bathroom and the hall.

“Yes, I am,” Shizuo sternly nodded. “What? Bathroom breaks are fine, but a bath takes an hour or so. That’s way too long a time to remain unattended for.”

“Uh,” Izaya lost the power of speech. “This is an invasion of privacy. I’ll be naked.”

“So what?” Shizuo couldn’t see the problem. He tried to walk past Izaya, but Izaya remained in the way, leaning against the door frame. “Come on, flea. You invade people’s privacy all the goddamn time. You’re the last person to have an issue with that.”

“That’s true to an extent, but I’ve never peeked at people. I’m not some kind of pervert,” Izaya scoffed, affronted.

It was strange of Izaya to get so defensive, and it only strengthened Shizuo’s suspicion that Izaya might be using these bathroom breaks for something fishy. He could be keeping a cell-phone hidden underneath the tub or behind a removable tile or some shit.

“I’m going in no matter what,” Shizuo laid it down, folding his arms against his chest. “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t look. I’ll sit with my back towards you.”

Izaya kept the pout for a little longer, before breaking into a laugh. “Alright, Shizu-chan. Whatever you fancy.”

He withdrew into the bathroom, and Shizuo followed, feeling a little less brave than he did outside of it. He plopped down on the tiled floor, facing away from the tub, and whipped out his cell-phone. He could use the hour to catch up on a few websites he followed.

“Don’t you fucking splash water at me,” he growled a warning, scrolling through the news. There was a soft rustle of clothes falling on the floor, and a sound of a faucet opening. The water pressure was strong at Izaya’s place, so it wouldn’t take too long for the tub to fill.

Of course, it didn’t take long before water drops started hitting the back of his shirt. “ _Izaya_ ,” Shizuo snarled, but it wasn’t like he could turn around to exact revenge.

“It was an _accident_ ,” he heard the irritating drawl. “One that wouldn’t affect you if you weren’t _here_.”

“I have to be here, you know that,” Shizuo shrugged. “Behave.”

“At least keep me company,” Izaya whined, throwing another handful of foam at him. Half of it missed him, exploding against the tiles of the wall, the other half soaked his already compromised shirt.

“What do you mean?!” Shizuo exclaimed, exasperated with the demands. He was here, he was _company_.

“See that green shampoo bottle on the sink shelf?”

Shizuo carefully turned his head in a way where his periphery vision wouldn’t catch more than necessary. There was a number of bottles arranged on the shelf next to the mirror, and one of them happened to be green.

“Yeah?”

“Well, bring it over here. I can’t walk through the room.”

“Uh, okay,” Shizuo got up and cautiously walked over to the mirror, making sure not to focus in on it because it reflected the entire room, including the tub. He grabbed the bottle, then closed his eyes and step by step, he continued moving his feet until they hit the tub. “Here,” he extended his hand. The darkness was worrisome, but Izaya was the one who was vulnerable here, so Shizuo wasn’t too concerned.

Except Izaya wouldn’t take the bottle from his hands. “Izaya?” Shizuo called, nervous.

“Now wash my head.”

“ _What?_ ”

His patience snapped — Izaya was playing games again — and he threw the bottle forward. There was a loud splash, and a cry of pain, and then hands grabbed his shirt collar pulling him forward. The loss of balance was still salvageable, and Shizuo pushed off the tub to keep himself from completely toppling over — there was no way he was entering a bathtub with a naked flea. But his lack of vision was a huge disadvantage, and Izaya still had the upper-hand — the tug at the shirt was firm and deadly, threatening to tip his balance at any moment.

He was so ready to throw a punch, but where would he aim? How would he aim? Izaya was _naked_ , and Shizuo wasn’t too keen on the idea of wrestling with a naked man.

“Either you shampoo my head, or I pull you in here,” Izaya said playfully, and Shizuo could almost picture the smirk in his head.

“How would I wash your head without seeing shit?” Shizuo asked weakly. He tried to fight off the hold on his shirt, but the hands were too fast for him to track them without vision.

“I believe in you.”

There was another threatening pull, and Shizuo’s hands almost slipped off the edge of the tub. That sent his heart beating in a quick race, and Shizuo gave in.

“O-Okay, okay. Just don’t pull anymore,” he grumbled and extended his hand out. “Give me the bottle.”

The wet bottle made its way into his hands, and he took the cap off, pouring cold liquid into his palm. He brought his hands together, distributing the stuff equally like he always did when he washed his own hair.

That part was easy. He froze, his hands up in the air. Shampooing Izaya’s head was really fucking weird. But Izaya’s hold on his shirt was firm, and fighting would be even harder now that his hands were moist and slippery.

“Where’s your head?” he asked, resigned. He shut his eyes tighter and watched golden stars swimming around.

“Reach out, and I’ll meet you halfway,” Izaya said. Judging by the cheerful sound of his voice, he seemed to be having the time of his life.

Shizuo sighed and put his hands out as if he was trying to catch a ball. There was a sound of water splashing, and his hands found a head.

“This is really fucking weird even for you, flea,” Shizuo said, his hands resting on top of the head. He hadn’t moved yet, still reluctant with the idea. Maybe he could smash the head against the wall.

“Really?” Izaya asked innocently. “The way I see it, my hands are still bruised from your abuse the other day. Soap hurts open wounds and scratches, you know? Those handcuffs reaaally raked my skin.”

Fucking Izaya, guilt-tripping him. Shizuo frowned deeper and started slowly running his hands through the hair. He was rough at first, still angered, but the guilt-trip worked wonders on his conscience, and he tried to be gentler. It wasn’t too bad. After all, Izaya’s looks didn’t match his rotten personality — his hair was fine and soft.

“By the way, you can open your eyes,” Izaya purred, releasing his shirt. “It’s not like you can see anything.”

“Huh?”

“There’s too much foam.”

Shizuo slowly blinked an eye open, trying to catch if it was a trick meant to burn a horrible image into his mind. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that Izaya was right. He was buried under thick foam and bubbles, wearing the biggest smirk he’d seen in a while.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Shizuo snapped and ran his hands all over Izaya’s face, making sure to rub some foam into his eyes. Izaya cried and slapped his hands away.

“That’s evil!” he shrieked, squeezing his eyes shut, and hurried to lean forward to open the faucet for some clean water. Shizuo quickly turned around before he could see anything unseemly.

“You started it,” Shizuo huffed and walked over to the towel rack to dry his hands.

All in all, as far as Izaya’s games went, that wasn’t too bad, Shizuo decided. At least he got to see him squirm, and that pitiful expression just a second ago was totally worth it.

 

!

 

Over the weekend, Shizuo spent most of his time at Izaya’s apartment, drowning in files and making fruitless phone-calls, feeling stuck in a deadlock. Izaya claimed to be powerless without a phone or an online connection, and so he spent all of his time reading books and playing chess against himself. He offered him a match once, but Shizuo impolitely declined, knowing all too well who was the better chess player.

On Monday, his day started with a call from the hospital, informing him that Mika Harima had escaped, and no one knew where she went. She didn’t say anything the second time Shizuo visited her, but her disappearance made the case that much weaker. 

The last of his hope gone, Shizuo headed down to the bar that night. He dragged Izaya with him, but he didn’t want to be around him anymore, so he shooed him away at the entrance, telling him to find some other entertainment while Shizuo drowned his sorrows in solitude. Izaya didn’t bother hiding his scorn at Shizuo’s choice of dealing with the news, but he refrained from making any comments. He looked like he could use a break from Shizuo, too. Their arguments had grown more frequent over the days, both of them increasingly more irritated by each other.

Shizuo stared down at his glass, trying to remember the last time he got drunk. Memories were too vague, but he was certain that it was about a year ago and that Izaya was there. Maybe that was the “last time” that Izaya mentioned, when he derided him for drinking.

It wasn’t like it was a big deal or anything. Shizuo could down bottles of scotch before his cheeks would even begin to flush with heat. Before his tolerance became a well-known fact in their circle, Izaya unknowingly bet that he could out-drink him, and Shizuo took him up on it, just for the hell of it. He had never drunk prior to that day, but he was completely sober when Izaya’s face started losing color. Eventually, Izaya darted out of the bar and emptied his stomach on the curbside. The humiliation on his face was awfully delicious, and Shizuo often teased him about it, offering him a rematch, but Izaya stopped drinking altogether after that, conceding that he “could never outdo the beast at it.”

Come to think of it, Izaya never smoked, either. Shizuo propped his chin into his palm, thinking about how Izaya always wanted to be the opposite of him. A lot of things about him were disagreeable, Shizuo supposed. He was either awkward or harsh, rough around the edges, short fuse for a temper. Vorona and Celty liked him, though, and he took comfort in that. They were reasonable women, and their opinion mattered a whole lot more.

His gaze traveled across the bar, taking in the melancholic air around, and fell on a young woman on the other side. She was petite, with short brown hair that was a little ruffled, sharp eyes for someone as small as her. Shizuo quickly looked away and grimly gestured for more drinks. The bartender was quick to give him a refill.

With the girl from the clinic gone, no probable cause on Adabashi and the warrant on Yagiri Pharmaceuticals rejected for having too little evidence… Shizuo didn’t even need to put himself off the case, his divided loyalties rendered meaningless in the wake of having no case whatsoever. He lit another cigarette, yearning for the feeling of content they brought to him. 

_Divided loyalties my ass_ , he thought, puffing smoke. He would gladly have the honor of locking Izaya up, being part of human trafficking more than enough cause. He had no proof, though, aside from hearsay and Shinra’s words. Shinra himself was probably going to walk free, unless one of Yagiri’s people decided to rat him out as an illegal practitioner of medicine. Then it would be up to the prosecutor and the state attorney to decide if the information was worth pursuing.

Imagining Izaya behind the bars didn’t bring him any mental satisfaction. Shizuo liked daydreaming, often getting lost in the reverie of his thoughts, but this particular fantasy wasn’t even close to being a positive one. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat when he thought about prison violence, and the tiny flea being among all of that. That was a ridiculous thought, though — Izaya would end up running any place he was thrown in, come the next month. Shizuo had a terrible habit of underestimating the little fucker when Izaya could really worm his way around anything.

Still, the idea of Izaya being the king of some rotten prison was equally depressing. Itching for a happier train of thoughts, Shizuo thought back on the way Izaya squeezed his eyes shut when Shizuo rubbed the shampoo all over his face. That was a good picture; stupid flea deserved it.

There was a scuffle to his right, and the girl that he had laid eyes on earlier gracefully climbed on top of the bar stool right next to him. Shizuo scanned the rest of the place, wondering why the woman chose to sit by him when there were empty seats about. The night was fairly busy, but not awfully crowded. She winked at the bartender, asking for a Blue Moon.

Shizuo fumbled to bring his belongings into one pile instead of a scattered mess, his pack of cigarettes, the keys and the drink.

The girl sized him up and gave him a wide toothy smile. “I haven’t seen you around here.”

“I don’t live around here.”

He was a little miffed that his thought process was interrupted, but the girl smelled nice and it had been forever since anyone approached him. It was nice when people weren’t scared of him, initiating conversation with no apprehension in their eyes.

“What are you doing in our neck of the woods then?”

“Work, I guess,” Shizuo put it the best way he could. It wasn’t like he could admit to monitoring an adult man. “I’m a detective,” he added, thinking that people probably elaborated on what they did in a normal conversation. He didn’t talk to strangers often enough to know how to make small-talk.

“That’s amazing,” the girl parted her lips in surprise. “I thought you’d be an actor. You look sharp.”

Shizuo looked at his clothes, crumpled and the tie coming undone, and furrowed his brows. This wasn’t Izaya, so he supposed she probably wasn’t being sarcastic.

“Thanks,” he managed a smile. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask my name?” she said, leaning closer. Her brown eyes were amused, with a playful glee.

Shizuo downed his drink and thought on it. It was obvious where this was going, he wasn’t _that_ oblivious — but his spirits were a little deflated to be hooking up at a bar. He gave it a long, serious consideration, because the girl really was very pretty — slender women like her were definitely his type.

“Maybe in a different life,” he said with a note of apology. “I got a lot on my plate lately, and I don’t think you should be talking to someone like me.”

She took it better than he expected, leaning her head back in a cute, childlike laugh. “It might help,” she noted knowingly. She reached out to adjust his tie, and he turned towards her to allow for better access. Deft hands worked their magic on the tie, quickly undoing it and then re-doing it into a slick knot. Her proximity sent butterflies somewhere down his stomach, and Shizuo reached out to cup her slender wrist before it withdrew.

“I’m Keiko,” she smiled brilliantly, taking the gesture to mean a change of heart.

“Shi—”

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya interrupted him, walking up from behind.

Shizuo looked back, an instant deep frown. He almost forgot Izaya was somewhere in the bar, too. “What?” he asked, a little irritated. Keiko didn’t need to meet someone like Izaya.

“Come with me,” Izaya said with a tone that almost sounded like an order.

“Huh,” Shizuo turned to face him, bewilderment spilling over his features. “Go with you where?”

“Back home.”

Izaya was wearing a strange expression, a smile that was soft enough to pass for friendly, and that felt like calm before a storm.

“Something about the case?”

“Just come,” Izaya insisted and headed for the exit.

Shizuo breathlessly cussed, watching Izaya walk away. Another game, or a real matter this time? It was unlike Izaya to be so serious, which worried Shizuo something sick. He couldn’t afford to miss any development on the case. On top of that, leaving Izaya alone now seemed counterproductive to the effort he’d put on monitoring him for the last couple of days.

“Uh,” the girl spoke up, breaking the silence that installed after Izaya left. Shizuo remembered her existence and blinked. “You could’ve told me you have no interest in women,” she smiled, huffing amusement. “It’s 2015, _Shizu-chan_ , no one cares.”

“It’s Shizuo,” he corrected, absent-minded. “Anyway, I gotta run — sorry.”

He grabbed his stuff and hurried for the exit. The meaning of her words reached him at the doorstep, but it was far too late to correct her on that other thing, too.

 

!

 

“Cockblock,” Shizuo spat, locked in a state of wild disbelief.

He sat on the bed, loosening his tie and dropping it on the floor, still processing what had happened. The jacket followed after, but there was still a flea in the room, so he remained in his shirt and pants for the time being.

Izaya sat to his right, a few feet away, and tilted his head with a smile, eyes delighted.

“I have no regrets,” he confessed with a little giggle.

It was unbelievably unfair. Sure, Izaya had messed with Shizuo’s “love-life” before, but it was the first time he’d done it so directly, so shamelessly. There was no case, no development; Izaya pulled him away just for the hell of it, because he wanted to mess with him and ruin his chances to get with someone. It was unfair on so many levels, Shizuo probably comprehended only half of it at the time, absorbed in the injustices of life.

“Why?” Shizuo could only ask. “I mean, I hate you too, but if our places were reversed, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Not even Izaya deserved to be denied so hard. Well, he did now, because payback, but it wasn’t like Shizuo would actually go out of his way to mess with Izaya’s personal life. That just seemed _wrong_.

“I guess I just hate you stronger,” Izaya lightly shrugged.

Shizuo fumed. Little by little he was falling into the familiar pit of anger; with a pained groan, he grabbed Izaya by the neck and shoved him down on the bed, the frame creaking with a whine from the sudden weight.

“What now, Shizu-chan?” Izaya chortled, trying to pull Shizuo’s hand away from his neck. “I think we both know you’re not really gonna touch me. Or are you gonna call your friends again?”

Shizuo breathed anger, thinking whether he should. It was late at night, though, and he wasn’t exactly comfortable with calling an officer over just because Izaya pulled another prank on him. That seemed a little too immature.

“Want me to make up for it?” Izaya suddenly asked, slithering like a snake out of his grasp.

“Make up for _what_?” 

“You know, for cock-blocking you,” Izaya murmured and did an indecent demonstration of slowly licking his lips. Shizuo swallowed; was the flea trying to seduce him?

Except he couldn’t have been. It must have been a mind-game, a competition, a test to see how Shizuo reacted. Everything was a way to fuck with Shizuo.

“I see,” Shizuo slowly nodded. “You think you’re so smart?”

Izaya blinked, but said nothing, only tugged suggestively at Shizuo’s shirt cuffs. He hunched his left shoulder, allowing the t-shirt to slide off to reveal more skin and more of that delicate collarbone.

 _Un-fucking-believable_ , Shizuo seethed. He was _expected_ to storm out of the room, embarrassed and flustered, but he hated losing to Izaya more than anything else. He didn’t want to be the one storming out of the room.

He wanted to blame the haze of alcohol for his next action, but he could only convince others of that, and maybe not even that because everyone knew his tolerance for alcohol was tremendous. Clumsily, Shizuo straddled him proper, determined to find out how much Izaya could take before he scared like a little girl.

Izaya didn’t even flinch, looking up with the most serene expression Shizuo had seen on him. His mouth was partially open, as if Izaya was holding his breath in anticipation. Shizuo almost felt like a little girl himself, ready to bail on the whole thing, but Izaya’s taunting words still burned in his mind, and he was prepared to win this exchange.

The thing was, he couldn’t lose this. Izaya had always hated him more than vice versa. He was bound to back out sooner than Shizuo did.

“Put your arms up,” Shizuo ordered, because games were fun until someone decided to drive a knife between his ribs. Izaya was only wearing jeans and t-shirt, but one was never safe enough.

“Handcuffs again?” Izaya didn’t look enthusiastic. “Mercy, Shizu-chan. My hands are still bruised.”

Shizuo ripped the handcuffs off his belt and tossed them on the floor. “Just put your arms up. I want to see them.”

Slowly, Izaya raised his arms above his head, resting them on the pillow. They laid crossed on top of each other, and even through the dark Shizuo could make out the faint bruises on the wrists, still present after a few days. Half-forgetting about the supposed game of chicken, he reached down to trace a finger across the healing skin, amazed how easy it was to hurt those hands. 

He felt a pang of guilt because he always believed that delicate creatures like children and women should never be subjected to physical abuse. Izaya wasn’t either of those, but his appearance was frail enough that there was a certain dissonance in Shizuo’s thoughts. One part of him screamed _he deserved all of it and more_ , the other was a little horrified at how violent Shizuo wanted to act against someone that brittle.

 _The flea is dangerous_ , Shizuo tried to remember, but continued tracing the soft skin, going down the forearm. His touch was as light as his hands were capable of producing, and the body under his fingertips trembled, skin filling up with goosebumps. Shizuo almost smiled in his triumph, confident that Izaya was about to give up, but it was quite the opposite.

Izaya was looking at him with amused condescension.

“Penny-ante stakes,” Izaya mocked him. He slid lower under him, bringing his hips up to grind against Shizuo’s crotch, and Shizuo lost his breath a little when he realized how intimate the position was. “ _Boring_.”

“Oh, really,” Shizuo closed his eyes real quick, then opened them again.

He could pull this off.

Sure, his heart was racing, but that was only because he was so close to Izaya, in a previously uncharted territory. This was a new game for Izaya, too, so the disadvantages of the field were equal. Shizuo tried to think of him as a woman, but he couldn’t really manage it. He didn’t even remember what the girl at the bar looked like, because all he could see was the man underneath him. Izaya looked beautifully vulnerable, arms resting above his head, his entire body looking exposed even though he was fully dressed.

He grabbed the hem of Izaya’s t-shirt and slid it upwards, tracing his palm across the exposed stomach. He thought it’d be nauseating or gross, but it felt strangely okay, maybe even good, because the skin was so silky smooth and just the right temperature, cool but not cold. Spreading his palm wider, he tried to touch as much as possible, circling the hand over the naked chest. His fingertips brushed around the nipples, and he froze still when he heard something that sounded like a whimper. He looked up, but Izaya only smiled wider, making the pretense of looking unimpressed. Pretense, because his body couldn’t lie. Through the dark, Shizuo could observe the slight flush across Izaya’s cheeks, and he could hear the small, barely audible pant of Izaya’s breath.

That picture was enough to break the spell the beauty of Izaya’s wrists put on him. This wasn’t a fucking game, Shizuo thought, slowly filling up with panic. This couldn’t be a game. Mortified, he staggered to get off of him, but Izaya quickly sat up to catch his hand.

“I-I lose,” Shizuo mumbled.

“Let’s play a little longer,” Izaya insisted, eyes cautious.

“I lost,” Shizuo shook his head. He gently untangled his shaking hand from Izaya’s and climbed off, moving over to sit on the edge of the bed. He stared at the empty wall across the room, admitting to himself that things had gone too far. What the fuck was he thinking? What the fuck was Izaya thinking? Did Izaya really foresee this much?

“You won,” he repeated hollowly, voice quieter than the drums of his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

“A Pyhrric victory,” Izaya smiled bitterly, running a hand through his hair. The gesture almost looked nervous, but it was Izaya, so there was no way to tell for certain.

The bitter sound tugged at Shizuo’s heart, and he was stupid enough to blurt something completely idiotic. “It’s okay, you know, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

“That, you know,” Shizuo waved his stiff hand, trying to articulate the thought. “That y-you’re into men.”

There was a sound of a loud, rich laugh that cut off abruptly, and a soft shake of the head. 

“I’m not particularly into men.”

Shizuo looked down, staring pointedly at the bulge on Izaya’s tight jeans, still coming to terms with the fact that the pest got this aroused from a simple touch. Izaya intercepted the glance, but only shrugged. 

“It’s okay, flea,” Shizuo tried again, digging a deeper grave. “I hate you for so many things, but I wouldn’t hate you for something like that. Shinra wouldn’t, either.”

Though maybe Shinra already knew. It wasn’t like they discussed things like this. Either way, Shizuo wasn’t a homophobe; the fact that Izaya enjoyed the company of men changed nothing about his perception of Izaya, and for some reason, Shizuo wanted him to know that.

Izaya looked like he was about to protest, but he stopped short and went quiet. 

“Well,” he finally said, bringing his bunched-up t-shirt down to cover himself. The old familiar smile crept back on his lips. “I guess I’m in denial then.”

“..Is that why you interrupted me at the bar?”

The question escaped Shizuo’s mouth before he could take a second to understand exactly what he was asking. Izaya studied him, his smile growing wider by the second. It threatened to leave his face, so amused he was. “Now, now, Shizu-chan, don’t get ideas.”

“Right,” Shizuo shook his head violently, as if he was shaking off ridiculous thoughts. “You just wanted a fuck then? I mean, this whole game, it wasn’t really a game for you, right?”

“Are you really that desperate?” Shizuo continued, regretting every word, but they felt unstoppable on his tongue. “I mean, that you’d consider me? I mean, I-I know I’ve been on your ass for a few days because of the job, but I didn’t think that you, you know, that you would grow impatient enough to just try to fuck whoever is available. It’s only been a few days, for chrissake.”

“Desperate, huh?” Izaya laughed with a little snort. “You’re one to talk when you were looking for a meaningless sexual encounter at the bar.”

That was different, that was a stranger, not a mortal enemy. 

Shizuo wanted to argue, but that wasn’t really the point. “Look,” he paused, recollecting his thoughts. “Just let me know when you need the night off to meet up with someone, alright?”

“Go to your own room, Shizu-chan,” Izaya said coldly and began undressing. “I’m going to sleep.”

Shizuo scrambled to collect his things before the pants started coming off. Outside, staring at the closed door, he realized that was actually the guestroom where he usually slept, but he didn’t have the heart to intrude on him again. Confused and a little dazed over what the fuck just happened, he moved to crash on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Izaya read was "The Tartar Steppe" by Dino Buzzati (great book).


	5. Your Heart of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title refers to the song "The Only Thing Worth Fighting For" by Lera Lynn.

He woke up with a start to the sound of a loud ringing. Fighting off the sheets that entangled his limbs, Shizuo managed to grab the little phone that was buzzing around on the floor before the caller gave up on reaching him.

“Heiwajima,” he mumbled into the phone, half of him hanging off the couch. 

“ _Shizuo-senpai_ ,” Vorona’s tinny voice came from the other end of the line. “ _I arranged a meeting with Mikado Ryuugamine this evening. I suggest senpai comes too, though considering this person’s importance, my suggestion becomes a request. I would like to have a partner when I go to meet them._ ”

“Of course,” Shizuo didn’t hesitate, “I’ll be there.”

“ _What is new about Izaya Orihara? Did senpai learn anything of substance?_ ”

“N-No, not really,” Shizuo said, looking around the empty living room. Izaya was probably still sleeping. “Text me the info on the meeting, please.”

He shut his phone and took a deep breath full of dread. Facing Izaya could be real awkward, considering what went down last night, but Shizuo was pretty sure they could move on pretending that nothing had happened.

It wasn’t the first time their games had backfired horribly. 

Shizuo paused at that thought, recalling the time they were driving late at night on the way to interview an old lady that lived out in the countryside. Izaya dared him to drive with the lights off, and Shizuo couldn’t back down from the challenge, riled up by the taunts. In hindsight, it was completely idiotic and Shizuo couldn’t for the life of him remember why he had agreed to do it in the first place. He ended up crashing into a tree off the road, though the damage to the car was minor and both of them were unharmed. It was mostly Shizuo who got psychologically scarred that night, deeply disturbed by the pitch-black road and the nauseating feeling that came with doing something illegal. Izaya’s choking laughter didn’t help alleviate the stress, either.

"Izaya,” he gave the door a hesitant knock. “We’re going out tonight. Vorona might’ve gotten us a lead.”

Silence.

Shizuo shrugged. He was about to step away when the door flew open, and Izaya came out with a yawn so big that it threatened to split his jaw in two. He looked like he just crawled out of bed, with faint sheet prints embedded in his cheek. It occurred to Shizuo just how vulnerable Izaya was in that moment — blinking and disoriented, only half-awake.

“What’s the lead?” Izaya asked, leaning against the door-frame. 

“Some college kid, think he’s Kida’s acquaintance,” Shizuo informed him, taking a step back. He didn’t want to invade Izaya’s personal space. After what went down last night, Shizuo was uncomfortably aware of physical boundaries.

Izaya’s face lit up. “Name’s not Ryuugamine, is it?”

“Yes,” Shizuo said, growing suspicious. “You know the kid?”

“He’s a friend,” Izaya smiled. He walked past Shizuo, heading towards the living room, and Shizuo followed. 

“You don’t have friends, flea. Did you mess with this kid, too?”

“No, he’s not like Masaomi-kun. I’d say he’s more interesting.”

Interesting was hardly a good thing when it came to Izaya’s view of people. It meant that he was going to obsess over you more than usual.

Izaya paused by the couch and reached for Shizuo’s bag where his phones were kept. “Surveillance’s over, Shizu-chan. I don’t know what you were expecting to get from watching over me, but I’m too bored to continue playing this game. Thank you for the vacation, though.”

It made sense, in more way than one. Shizuo was stumped with the investigation, to a point where he was planning to ask Izaya to go back online and figure out the next course of action. Whatever lies he’d been holding onto, Adabashi was still a solid link, and they could use more where that came from. 

Though if Izaya really was involved in the murders, it would render all the information that came from him useless. Shizuo wouldn’t be able to cite him as the informant on the case.

With a heavy sigh, he gestured Izaya to sit down on the couch. Izaya cracked an amused smile, but complied.

“Look, flea,” Shizuo began, thinking over various ways on how to approach this. “I don’t know how deeply you’re involved in things, and I know you’re gonna lie if I ask anything specific, but can you answer a yes-or-no question?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know who my murderer is?”

“No,” Izaya quickly answered. “Do you believe me?”

A million-dollar question, that. Shizuo let out another labored sigh. “I don’t think so,” he admitted. “I want to, though.”

“Oh?”

“It’d make things easier,” said Shizuo tiredly. “Lies are exhausting.”

He glanced at the mini-mountain of files and the laptop he’d been keeping on the floor. It’d be a pain in the ass to move all of it back to his office. 

“I think I’ll still stay here until the investigation’s over,” he said, studying Izaya’s face for a reaction. Part of him also wanted to continue keeping a close eye on Izaya, especially now that he had access to electronics again.

“Suit yourself.” Izaya shrugged and walked to his desk to hide behind the screen of his computer.

 

!

 

According to Vorona, the Ryuugasaki kid wanted to meet at a cemetery of all places.

Shizuo spotted her car the moment he pulled up to the tall metal gates. It was empty, its driver nowhere in sight. He parked to the right of it and frowned. They were supposed to meet up in front of the gate, and it was unlike Vorona to forget important details like that. He killed the engine, and the deafening silence of the place laid over them. 

Izaya quietly whistled, looking up at the massive gargoyle statues guarding the gates. “Spooky.”

“I guess we try to find her inside,” Shizuo said, barely above a whisper.

They entered through the gates, following the main trail. The sky was hidden behind layers of heavy clouds, but occasionally, the moon peeked through to reveal the glistening gravestones that surrounded them, moist from the rain that lasted the whole day and had only eased an hour or so ago.

It was eerily quiet, with no sounds around but the mud squishing under their feet. Neither of them was scared of the dark (as far as Shizuo knew) or the fact that they were surrounded by lonely graves, but both were equally reluctant to raise their voices. Shizuo tapped his phone, meaning to give Vorona a call and check for any unread messages he might have missed. The glow of the screen was blinding white against the dark, but once his eyes adjusted to the contrast, he saw that there was no reception. 

Izaya skipped forward, then slowed his step, frowning at the mud all around them. The rain reduced the trail into a nasty mess of dirt. Eventually, the path led them to a bigger area, and they heard distant voices. Shizuo hurried his step, squinting to see through the dark.

The voices seemed to come from a small hill to the side of the trail, not nearly as littered with graves as the rest of the cemetery. Vorona was there, tall and graceful, and there were two boys in front of her. The shorter of the boys had blue hair that was highlighted by the dim glow of the moonlight. The other boy was a few steps behind his blue-haired friend, sitting leisurely on top of one of the gravestones. The lack of respect for the dead was appalling, but Shizuo didn’t really care enough to dwell on it.

“Vorona!” Shizuo called, louder than he had intended. He struggled to see through the dark, but the young men appeared to be unarmed.

All three of them turned to face him as he climbed up the hill, the muddy ground slipping from under his feet. Izaya stayed behind, staring at the crumbling soil — he did always dislike dirtying his belongings for no reason. With a light shrug, he circled around the hill to find a narrow stone path that led uphill.

“Senpai,” Vorona nodded at him once Shizuo joined her side. “This is Mikado Ryuugamine.”

The taller boy stood up and took a step forward to extend his hand. Shizuo remained still, looking at the boy with a neutral expression. He didn’t know the boy well enough to give him a handshake. Mikado seemed to get the hint, dropping his hand with an non-offensive smile. 

“Pleased to meet you, Heiwajima-san,” he said politely, giving a small nod of the head.

Shizuo wasn’t interested in exchanging pleasantries. "Heard you knew something about my case?” 

The young men didn’t boast a friendly aura around themselves. Shizuo generally had a good instinct for people, able to sense it if someone was a good person or not, and the air around these two was dangerous. It was similar to the way he felt when he first met Izaya. The blue-haired boy didn’t bother to hide the edge in his smile — he looked at him and Vorona with unconcealed malice — but Shizuo was ever more disturbed by the unsettling serenity of Mikado Ryuugamine’s expression. 

Izaya finally caught up with them, assuming his place by Shizuo’s right side. He was more concerned about the state of his shoes than the two boys they came to meet, squatting down to analyze the soles for any permanent damage.

“Izaya-san,” Mikado greeted him fondly. For a second he looked genuinely excited to see the informant. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has. Not the most ideal place for a meeting, this. So much rain recently.” Izaya complained, not bothering to look up at the boy. He stood back up, moderately satisfied with his inspection. “Aoba-kun, are you okay?” he turned to the blue-haired boy. “You've lost some weight. And what is that bruise on your arm? Don’t tell me you fell down?”

“Fuck off,” Aoba spat in open disgust. He pulled down on his sleeve to hide a mark that Shizuo had failed to catch before Izaya said something. Izaya really had the eyes of a hawk to notice small details like that in the dark.

Mikado raised a hand, as if to silence or mediate the conflict.

“No need for vulgarities, Aoba-kun,” he said agreeably. “To continue on with our conversation, Heiwajima-san, yes, we do have some information on your case.”

“Well, I’m all ears,” Shizuo put simply.

“Information doesn’t come free, though,” Mikado pointed, glancing at Izaya. “I expect Heiwajima-san would know that much, having spent so much time with Izaya Orihara.”

“Mikado Ryuugamine would like to know the whereabouts of Masaomi Kida,” Vorona reported.

She had been eying Mikado with an expression that bordered on admiration. Shizuo recognized the look immediately — it was the fixed stare of a hunter that was sizing up the prey, relishing in its beauty and the thrill of the imminent hunt. She rarely looked this excited, and Shizuo could only guess what kind of things they must have discussed before he arrived.

“Masaomi-kun is mine,” Izaya spoke up, a note of possessiveness in his voice. “I’m not sure I’m all too interested in giving him up.”

Shizuo turned to Izaya, surprised by the way he butted in into the negotiations. “Uh, Masaomi Kida’s definitely not yours,” he frowned. “He’s my witness.”

“Regardless of who _owns_ Kida-kun,” Mikado said, amused by the quarrel, “his current location is the price for the information I have to offer.”

Shizuo excused himself for a moment, taking Izaya to the side. The informant didn’t seem eager to give up Masaomi’s location, and Shizuo wanted to know why.

“Are they Kida’s enemies or something? I thought they go to the same school,” Shizuo whispered, confused. He looked back to check on Vorona who appeared to be engaged in a conversation with Mikado.

“No, they are friends, actually,” Izaya intoned, bored. He kicked up a piece of dirt with the toe of his boot, aiming it at Shizuo. It missed. “Mikado-kun wouldn’t hurt him.”

“We should trade then,” Shizuo decided. No harm done to the kid who was currently incapacitated and of no real use.

“That’s up to you, _boss_ ,” Izaya smiled, stressing the word just to irritate Shizuo. “But you cannot lead them to Shinra — we’ll have to move Masaomi somewhere else first.”

“Why?” Shizuo sensed caution in Izaya’s words.

“Because I don’t want Shinra’s address circulating in the street,” Izaya said, facing away from him. He always avoided eye-contact when he talked about Shinra. “ _Think_ , Shizu-chan. Shinra is the only Achilles’ heel that I have, and those two boys aren’t exactly fond of me. You can’t give them ammunition against me. You can’t put Shinra in danger, period, because of your promise.”

That made sense, and Shizuo felt a little embarrassed for missing that angle. They walked back to rejoin the other three, interrupting Vorona’s earnest questions on Mikado’s occupation. Mikado, as far as Shizuo could tell, politely avoided giving any definite answers. He seemed to be mildly amused to be the target of Vorona’s undivided attention, which Shizuo grimly thought to be a mistake. Vorona’s focus spelled out nothing good for the kid in the long-term. She wasn’t going to rest until she took him down.

All things considered, they had nothing to lose. The Kida boy wasn’t that important, and Izaya seemed confident in the fact that Ryuugamine wouldn’t hurt the kid.

“Alright,” Shizuo said, folding his arms against his chest. “We can deal. We’ll move Kida wherever you want.”

The boys exchanged a look, and Mikado gave a curt nod.

“The guy you’re looking for is dead,” Aoba revealed with a small cackle. “Those poor women were never meant to die. It was a mistake, and as ridiculous as that sounds, it's true. Some rich fuck didn’t know when to stop cutting, and they bled out like pigs. The idiot paid for it because the people above him made sure he didn’t live to tell stories.”

“What do you mean? What people?” Shizuo asked, his mind racing to absorb the flow of information. 

“You know about the parties they arrange, right?”

“Parties?”

“Geez, are you really a detective? You have Izaya Orihara himself helping you, and you’re this clueless?” Aoba sneered.

Shizuo scrunched his nose in anger, quickly losing control of his temper. “Watch your fucking mouth, kid,” he growled, taking a heavy step forward that splashed mud. Vorona hurried to place a calming hand on his shouder.

“Attempts at verbal conflict aren’t recommended,” she said to the boys. “You must proceed with caution if you wish for our cooperation.”

Mikado lazily gestured Aoba back. “I apologize for Aoba-kun,” he said peacefully. “The gist of what he said is correct. Your murderer is gone from this world, Heiwajima-san. Some of my men caught wind of Kisuke Adabashi disposing of a particular client the other day. The parties mentioned are arranged by Adabashi and Yagiri, the two people I believe you’re already tracking. They collect certain women around the world, offering them up to a closed circle of wealthy powerful men. Those gatherings are a little ritualistic in nature, as far as we know.”

“Jinnai Yodogiri,” Izaya chimed in, bringing up that mysterious name again.

“Yes, Adabashi and Yagiri follow his orders,” Mikado nodded, recognizing the name. “Unfortunately, we don’t know anything else about the man. Only that he exists.”

Shizuo cleared his throat, processing the information. “You know where the body of my murderer is?”

“No.” Mikado shook his head. “We only know that it was done.”

“So these parties… where are they held? What else do you know?”

“I believe we’ve given you enough information,” Mikado said apologetically. He bent down to search through his bag, and Vorona placed her hand on the holster as a warning. “Easy there, detective,” he looked up at her with an angelic smile. “I just want to share my card with Heiwajima-san here. He must know how to contact me, right?”

He carefully took out a plain white card, making a point to move as slow as possible so as to show that he wasn’t pulling out anything dangerous. Shizuo snatched the card out of his hands, scanning it for a second before slipping it into the front pocket of his shirt.

“Now how the fuck do you kids know all this?” he asked the question that had been bothering him from start.

“We keep an ear to the ground.” Mikado waved his hand. “That’s a rather rude question, Heiwajima-san. We never agreed to reveal our sources.”

“Mikado-kun here is the head of Dollars, you know? He ought to know these things.” Izaya interjected playfully.

It might have been the wrong thing to say. The blue-haired boy sprang forward before Izaya even got to finish the sentence. He ran at Izaya with the full intention of hitting him, and Izaya slipped behind Shizuo, feigning a fearful gasp and gripping onto the sleeve of Shizuo’s jacket.

Shizuo didn’t have time to analyze the way it looked for everyone present. By instinct, he hit the boy somewhere in the solar plexus, knocking the air out of him. Aoba doubled over in a fit of coughs, desperately struggling to get a breath in, and Shizuo spun him around with a firm hold against his neck. Izaya released his sleeve, looking mighty pleased with the sequence of events.

Vorona froze on the spot, gun drawn, Mikado in her sights. “Do not disappoint me, Mikado Ryuugamine,” she said. “You are not allowed to be stupid enough to consider helping your friend right now.”

“Oh, Aoba-kun will be fine,” Mikado glanced at Aoba with boredom. Aoba looked back with unbridled fear, but made no motion to move. Not that he could — Shizuo was still holding the boy, deliberating the implications of what just went down. He didn’t know why the boy got enraged by Izaya mentioning some “Dollars”, but it must have mattered a great deal to him.

In the meantime, Izaya stepped forward so he could face Aoba directly. He had been quietly laughing ever since Shizuo interrupted the blow for him.

“So much fire, Aoba-kun,” Izaya teased, reaching out and tucking a lock of blue hair behind Aoba’s ear.

Powerless against Shizuo's steel grip, Aoba hawked and spat in Izaya’s face. Izaya only laughed louder, looking absolutely delighted, then took out a napkin to wipe the spit away.

“Get the fuck away from him, flea,” Shizuo ordered.

He did technically protect Izaya from getting hit, but that was mostly by instinct. He had been itching for a reason to punch the blue-haired kid, and Aoba was kind enough to provide him with one. That didn’t mean Izaya got to taunt the boy. Izaya obediently withdrew at the command, stepping back to stand behind Shizuo.

Mikado didn’t seem affected by the display of Shizuo's strength, or the gun Vorona had pointed at him. It spoke volumes on Mikado's character, because Shizuo couldn't think of too many criminals who would keep their nerve so effortlessly under Vorona's intense aim.

“Please let my man go,” Mikado said politely, as if he was asking Shizuo to pass the salt. “It’s best that we head back. We’ll be in touch.”

Except Shizuo wasn’t so sure they were done just yet. If anything, he had full control over Aoba now. It irritated him how confident Mikado acted with them, as if he had the upper hand. 

“Kid, I really don’t think you gave me enough to take Kida from me,” Shizuo said calmly. His free hand fumbled for a cigarette in the pocket of his jacket, and he turned towards Izaya, gesturing for a light. Izaya chuckled, but leaned forward with a lighter, sheltering the flame from the wind. Shizuo took a long, satisfying drag before he continued. “I suggest you perform a thorough search through your memory. Give me something that’s worth my goddamn time, yeah?”

Mikado looked at Aoba trembling in Shizuo’s hold, then at Vorona who had a faint hint of a smile behind her raised gun. He parted his hands as if to denote defeat. “I suppose I have no choice,” he conceded with an overly sweet smile. “I can give you the address where the next party is going to take place. That ought to do it, right?"

That was more than enough.

Shizuo threw the kid towards Ryuugamine, and to his surprise, Mikado slapped him across the face. Aoba stared down at his feet, murmuring apologies. The two of them turned to leave without uttering another word, Mikado doing a sudden one-eighty in his attitude towards the boy. He draped an arm around Aoba’s shoulders, cooing indistinct words of comfort.

Vorona holstered her gun, an excited glee in her eyes.

“Does senpai see how dangerous Mikado Ryuugamine is?” she said, intently watching the two boys that were walking away. Strangers wouldn’t be able to tell, but she was overflowing with emotion.

“Just what the hell are they? What are Dollars?” Shizuo sighed.

“It’s an underground organization. Their most interesting quirk is that they refuse to deal with drugs, but they have seized control of a lot of territory anyway. As far as I know, they are on a crusade of sorts to cleanse Ikebukuro from gang violence and drugs,” Vorona explained. “I had no idea Mikado Ryuugamine was their leader. This information is truly exciting,” she added, giving Izaya a curious look. 

“Aoba-kun wasn’t pleased with me revealing that bit,” Izaya giggled. “Not many know about it, but I trust you two can keep it to yourselves. Ah, his reaction exceeded my expectations! I’m so happy we came out to meet them.”

Shizuo smacked him on the back of the head. “Stop playing with people,” he huffed, and Izaya pouted, rubbing the attacked spot.

“Shizu-chan, you probably don’t know it, but those little smacks actually hurt.”

 _Good_ , Shizuo thought with satisfaction, then turned to Vorona. He felt somewhat guilty, having monopolized the negotiations. Of course, Mikado would have never come out to talk if he wasn't interested in the Masaomi kid, but still.

“Did you get to ask him about your homicides?” 

“Yes. Both of them have a perfect alibi,” Vorona said, thoughtful. “Yet I remain certain they are responsible for them.”

They turned to walk back to their vehicles, Izaya finding the audacity to ask Shizuo for a piggy-back ride. He cited the cost of his shoes as the reason for it, but Shizuo only rewarded him with another smack.

 

!

 

“So my murderer’s murdered,” Shizuo said, curled up on the couch. He had just taken a long hot shower, the comfort of clean clothes blissful against his skin. “That’s a real downer right there, flea. Dead people are impossible to find.”

Izaya was sitting on the floor, legs neatly tucked under him and a laptop in front. His position was right in front of Shizuo, his back against the couch, and Shizuo peeked over his shoulder to try and see what the informant had been doing online. It seemed like your usual Internet browsing — news, forums, some weird colorful chat where messages popped up faster than Shizuo thought was humanly possible to type. 

“We take down Adabashi and Yagiri then,” Izaya moved his shoulders in a small shrug. “They lead us to the body.”

“At least we have the address and the time of the next scheduled party,” Shizuo said, scrolling through his phone messages. Volume wise, almost all of his texts were from Izaya — he loved to shower Shizuo with messages for the smallest of reasons every time they went separate ways. Shizuo used to promptly delete them, but then he got too lazy, allowing them to pile up. Of course, he never answered them; he never even read them. 

He found the text from Mikado and read the address out loud so Izaya could type it into Google Maps.

“That’s not too far from here,” Shizuo said, looking over Izaya’s shoulder. “It’s a week from now though. We need to find some probable cause if we want to search the place during the time the party takes place.”

“Hmm, missing persons?” Izaya suggested. “Maybe our murderer’s family is worried sick about him. He should be missing for a few days now, maybe even longer if they took care of him right after the third girl.”

Shizuo thought on it. It was plausible they could pick up a lead there, but the missing persons department was horrible at keeping track of their files. It was by far the worst-managed place in the entirety of the police organization, and Shizuo had little hope in that regard.

“By the way,” Shizuo remembered to ask, sliding his foot down to poke Izaya in the back of his ribs. “How come this Mikado kid knows more than you, hmm?”

Izaya shoved his foot away and looked offended. “He doesn’t know more than me. I was offline for days, thanks to your distrust in me.”

“And that Aoba kid fucking teased me about being clueless,” Shizuo grumbled, angered by the memories alone. “ _Izaya Orihara himself_ helping me my ass. Right, _big_ help you are.”

“Hey,” Izaya protested. “You slowed me down for days. In this city, information spreads fast, but it also dies fast. You can’t really afford to go offline.”

“Then why did you? I never asked you to!”

“So you would trust me, of course,” Izaya said, leaning his head back against the couch. He arched his neck in a way that his face rested on the couch upside down, a big smile across the lips.

Shizuo's gaze followed the delicate curve of Izaya's neck, and he forced himself to look elsewhere, refusing to think of the awkward thing that went down last night.

“That Aoba kid,” he coughed. “He didn’t seem to like you.”

“A common sentiment,” Izaya turned back to his laptop. “My guess is he’s mostly just jealous over Mikado. Mikado-kun and I used to be very close, after all.”

Shizuo froze in his seat, unable to ignore the sinking feeling that took over him with those words. He was uncomfortably aware of the sharp tug somewhere around his heart.

“What the fuck does that mean? You don’t mean—?”

Mikado was _eighteen_. That would mean he was younger than that when Izaya was “close” with him, whatever that meant. Shizuo didn’t give a rat’s ass about Izaya being apparently gay and all, but the thought of him messing with minors sickened him to the core of his stomach.

“Oh, no,” Izaya finally caught onto the source of Shizuo’s distress. “I meant it in a, uh, how do I put it? Psychological sense only?”

“You’re disgusting,” Shizuo muttered, feeling a surge of relief. “How can you be so amoral?”

Izaya straightened his back, looking at him with a soft frown. “Amoral?”

“Like you mess with kids and shit,” Shizuo said, scowling back at him. “You have no brakes whatsoever. Everything is fair game to you as long as you’re entertained, isn’t it?”

By the end of his sentence, Shizuo scooted farther away from him, feeling distraught by how close they had gotten over the last few days. He got so caught up watching the trees, he’d forgotten about the giant black forest right in front of him. Sure, Izaya looked lonely sometimes, and that made Shizuo sympathize with him a little, but inside and out, Izaya was a bad person. A criminal that hadn’t been caught red-handed yet.

Izaya softly smiled, keenly aware of the disgust Shizuo was feeling. He scooped up his laptop with one hand and headed back to his desk, not bothering to grace Shizuo’s question with an answer.

 

!

 

The search in the missing persons department didn’t yield any fruitful results. Shizuo spent two days going through the abandoned files, more than a little disheartened with what little pathetic work was put into searching for missing people. There were a total of two police working in the branch, and neither of them seemed very competent, both shocked that someone else even bothered to come down to go through their graveyard of files.

They didn’t know when this “rich idiot” would have been marked as “missing”, if ever, so they made sure to go as far back as a month. Shizuo also checked for any new women reported missing that would fit the profiles of the three Hanako Yamada’s*. Izaya accompanied him for one of the days, only to fall asleep on top of the scattered papers. Shizuo poked him with a pencil a few times, then let him be. He was like a giant baby; noisy and attention-demanding when awake, peaceful and somewhat bearable asleep.

On the second day, Izaya claimed he had a different lead he wanted to look into, where someone like Shizuo would best not be present. Shizuo frowned at the words, wondering what kind of sketchy business he was going to get into, but Izaya "reassured" him that it was in his best interest. “You don’t want to compromise your integrity, do you?”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Shizuo said, now hundred-percent sure Izaya was going to do something bad. “Don’t do anything TOO illegal!” he shouted and watched Izaya skip away.

_Fucking flea._

Shizuo went back to reading the yellowed papers in front of him. Someone really managed to spill coffee over all of the files in this particular box.

Izaya came back hours after, happiest smirk splattered across his stupid face. Shizuo looked up at him in dismay, brooding over the possible evil things he had been up to if he was that happy.

“How’s my little lost puppy doing?” Izaya cooed from the doorstep and promptly ducked the rain of files that Shizuo sent his way. They flew past him to explode in a flutter of papers in the hallway.

“Who’s a lost puppy?” Shizuo grumbled.

“You are,” Izaya declared, catching the crumpled ball of paper thrown at him. “You’re lost, and I’m guiding you to light. Or something like that. You’d stand no chance on your own, not against these rotten criminals.”

Shizuo bit his lip, unable to deny that last part. In his defense, any other detective would be just as stumped as he was. “Did you manage to find something?”

“Mhmm.” Izaya walked to the desk, almost breaking into a small dance from his good mood. “I tracked down Mika Harima! She told me _everything_.”

“Izaya,” Shizuo lost his breath. “Are you out of your mind? I told you not to break the girl!”

“No, you said no breaking people on _your_ watch,” Izaya corrected him. “That’s why I insisted on going alone to my little rendezvous.”

“Is the girl okay? What did you do to her?”

Izaya went on to tell him about the meeting.

Before he began detailing the conversation he had with the girl, Izaya made sure to make it clear that he didn’t break her any further than she was already. In fact, he wasn’t sure if it was possible to break the girl. According to him, Mika Harima was one of the most twisted people he had met. Izaya was so taken aback by the unpredictability of her behavior that he almost forgot about the purpose of their meeting. This Izaya told Shizuo with a strange glee to his eyes, reminding him of the way Vorona looked at the Ryuugasaki kid.

The girl had her own agenda for meeting him — apparently she was head over heels for Yagiri’s younger brother. She eagerly promised Izaya she would assist anyone for a chance to take down Namie Yagiri, her eyes glowing dark with a desire for vengeance. The woman did give Mika the appearance she had wanted, but then Yagiri tried to brainwash her into forgetting about “Seiji-kun” and almost succeeded in surrendering her for some other purposes within the clinic.

“What the fuck,” Shizuo interrupted him right there. “Namie Yagiri tried to erase her memories?”

“Worse,” Izaya said. “She tried to erase her identity and give her an entirely new persona. Mika-chan was about to be shipped off into the hands of really bad people. I’m assuming the ones that toyed with our murdered women.”

“Girl can testify to that?”

“She promised full assistance, on two conditions. She wants to be ‘reunited’ with Seiji, and Yagiri has to go to jail.”

“Yagiri won’t be avoiding jail,” Shizuo gritted the cigarette between his teeth. “We'll bust these fuckers.”

It made him sick to think of people who arranged for young women to be cut up for some obscure purposes. His mind kept returning to the photos of the deceased women, their injuries and wounds, and Shizuo could only imagine the horror of being cut for the recreation of some seriously twisted people. He wasn't going to sleep right until both Yagiri and Adabashi went to jail, paying for what they had done. When he allowed himself to think a little past that, he couldn't help but wonder about the mysterious man named Jinnai Yodogiri who was supposedly behind the entire blood ring, but it was entirely too soon to even hope for that. Even Izaya claimed to know nothing about the man, and Shizuo focused on the more immediate targets for now.

“My hero of justice,” Izaya sang with a mocking smile, then grew serious. “Look up this Seiji boy for me? Seiji Yagiri.”

Shizuo threw the coffee-stained papers back into the box and headed upstairs into his office.

He was ready for the database to come up empty at the query, but there were a few matches on the 18-year-old kid. Three months ago he filed a restraining order against Mika Harima, and some time later he turned himself in for assault and battery against someone unknown. The latter report was promptly withdrawn, records indicating that Namie Yagiri had intervened on his behalf, and the boy “confessed” that he had lied about the assault. Since it was never clear who he assaulted, there was no crime to pursue, and the police couldn’t put a charge together. They let him go with a fine for wasting their time.

Izaya leaned over, sharp chin digging into Shizuo’s shoulder. Shizuo tried to throw it off, but Izaya pointed at the screen, distracting him.

“The timeline matches, don’t you think? The nurse said that Mika-chan’s scars were a few months old.”

Did she say that? Shizuo didn’t remember. “You think the boy assaulted the girl and brought her to Yagiri?”

“It matches her story, too,” Izaya said. He perked up at the lack of resistance from Shizuo and slid his arms underneath the armpits to lock him into a hug. Shizuo jerked in his seat, his chair toppling over. Izaya jumped back to dodge the clash, and Shizuo fell onto the floor.

“What the _fuck_ , flea,” he growled, hurrying to get back up. He breathed unevenly, angry eyes locking onto amused. “Why do you do this shit?”

Izaya lightly shrugged. “Anyway,” he continued, completely ignoring him, “Mika-chan was kind enough to agree to attend the party for us.”

This spelled danger. Shizuo furrowed his brows, trying to forget about the flea’s stunt and focus on the matter at hand.

“What if they don’t believe her? I don’t think this is a good idea. She runs away only to come back? That’s suspicious as hell. What if someone saw her with you? Everyone must know by now that you work with the police,” Shizuo spluttered a series of hypotheticals. A very small part of him knew that he was still flustered over the shameless hug Izaya pulled him into, but he would die before he admitted that to himself.

“All valid concerns,” Izaya nodded. “Showing up at Yagiri’s step with me by your side wasn’t the smartest idea now, was it? I tried to talk you out of it, but you dragged me along anyway.”

“Well, you _lied_ to me,” Shizuo spat the accusation that he’d been itching to bring up. “I knew you worked for Yagiri. Human trafficking, really?”

Izaya glared at him, red eyes narrowing. Silence stretched over them, neither saying a word for a while. Shizuo moved to break the still moment, picking up the fallen chair off the floor and setting it up-right again.

“How long have you known that?” Izaya asked, biting down on his lower lip. Shizuo could swear that was the first time he’d seen the flea do that.

“Shinra told me about a week ago.”

“Damn him,” Izaya said simply. “Can never keep his mouth shut.”

Surprisingly, Izaya was quiet. Shizuo was expecting another barrage of lies, either to divert attention or to somehow justify his actions. Nothing came, though. Izaya stood still, arms by his side, no shadow of a smile in the lips or the eyes. Maybe he was nervous because this was the first time Shizuo had something tangible on him. Maybe the surprise of the reveal rendered him speechless, making him unable to come up with any lies. Shizuo could only guess.

Tired of the unsettling sight of a speechless Izaya, Shizuo broke into a sigh, heavy and exhausted. “It’s fine, flea. I don’t have any proof, aside from Shinra’s words. You’ll probably strike some deal with Yagiri behind my back to make sure she keeps her mouth shut, too. No need to piss your pants just yet.”

Izaya eased a little at those words, and within a minute, he donned his usual mask of smiles.

“I’m surprised Shizu-chan held onto that for so long,” he said, softly shaking his head in surprise. “You really have learned patience, haven’t you?”

“Shut up,” Shizuo muttered, ready to be done with the insufferable topic. “Are you still involved with Yagiri? Because if you are, I _will_ pursue a case against you.” 

“No,” Izaya said, turning away. He slid his hands across some random files on another detective’s desk, straightening out the folded edges. “It was a one-time favor.”

It didn’t do anything for Shizuo to see Izaya act so out-of-character. Was it possible Izaya had felt guilty? Shizuo had never seen him look so self-conscious before. _Wishful thinking_ , he reminded himself. Izaya was always playing at something. It somehow benefited him to pretend to look contrite. 

Shizuo just didn’t know why yet.

 

!

 

Lies and hidden agenda aside, Shizuo no longer believed Izaya to be involved with the murders.

He couldn't fathom a reason for why Izaya would cooperate with Shizuo on the case otherwise. To steer the investigation somewhere else, or to shield Shinra — either of those goals Izaya could have achieved remotely, without any influence on Shizuo.

All Shizuo had himself was his instinct. He was no match against Izaya in a battle of wit or smarts, because Izaya was one of the most intelligent people he had met. Sheer knowledge wise, Vorona would rank above him, but Izaya was more intuitive and more intimately familiar with the way human relationships worked. His existence as an information broker that worked for all sides was the testament to just how intelligent he was. A person like that couldn’t exist, not unless they were exceptional. You couldn’t play for multiple teams for very long before one of them decided to get rid you for being inconvenient and, well, so blatantly impudent. On top of that, Izaya’s lack of principles had to be a huge deterrent. There was a certain code one had to abide by if one was to deal with the underworld forces. Izaya lacked interest in following any particular set of rules, and people detested him for that reason more than they hated him for double- or triple-crossing them.

As far as Shizuo could tell, the only real constant in Izaya’s personality was his devotion to Shinra. He even referred to the doctor as his one and only Achilles heel in their conversation the other night. Shizuo pondered that fact, wondering if he could somehow use that against him, but Shinra was just as uncontrollable and random as Izaya was. Shizuo never really got along with the doctor, and he was sure that no amount of talk would persuade the doctor to play against Izaya. Which was a shame, because any leverage over the informant would come in handy right about now. 

Paranoia aside, Shizuo resigned himself to accept that Izaya probably had nothing to do with the murders. Neutral parties like the Ryuugasaki kid confirmed that the girls’ deaths were accidental, and Izaya seemed just as intrigued by this information as Shizuo was disturbed by it. 

Izaya looked up at him from over his screen, and Shizuo snapped back to attention. They had been discussing the case, but Izaya had gone off on another tangent related to some book he had recently read, and Shizuo zoned off into his own thoughts. 

“You’re not listening,” Izaya pursed his lips.

“I’m not,” Shizuo confirmed with a light nod. “I’m not your buddy, flea. Save these conversations for Shinra or something.”

“Shinra rarely talks to me,” Izaya pointed. “Shizu-chan, do you even read books?”

The last book he had read was on Vorona’s recommendation, some gritty crime novel that she highly praised on account of being very realistic. Shizuo wasn’t a huge fan, but it wasn’t too bad.

“Not really,” Shizuo admitted. He stared at the sunset behind Izaya’s back, the blood orange sky stretching over Ikebukuro. Izaya definitely chose his real estate based on whether it had a rather breath-taking view of the city.

“Don’t you find it amazing that you can read things people wrote hundreds, no, thousands of years before you were even born?”

“It’s kinda cool, I guess,” Shizuo couldn’t argue. 

“Kinda cool,” Izaya echoed. “What a lukewarm reaction. _I_ think it’s amazing. A book is a window into a human soul, and now thanks to the Internet and online shopping, we have access to millions of them.”

“I’m very happy for you,” Shizuo muttered; he couldn’t care less about Izaya’s fascination about human nature. “Can we get back to the case?”

“There’s nothing to get back to,” Izaya smiled at his frustration. “Mika-chan will meet us tomorrow, and we’ll go over the details.”

Earlier that day, Shizuo went over to Tom to relay the new information they had discovered. Tom was on board with the plan of Mika Harima infiltrating the party that they had caught wind of. According to Harima, Adabashi didn’t know the girls by face, but he was the one in charge of the parties and who got to enter. Mika was sure that the branding scar on her neck was more than enough to allow her entry. She was going to wear a wiretap on her, and if anything went south, Shizuo and other officers would be on back-up.

She had never attended a “party” before — the upcoming one was supposed to be her first. The plan was to wait until she saw anything remotely illegal, which would give them the right to enter the property and search everyone in attendance.

Shizuo remained unconvinced with the viability of the plan. He knew that by now both Yagiri and Adabashi were aware of the attention they had from the police. Yagiri knew Mika Harima had escaped, and there was no telling how much they would up the security. They didn’t strike Shizuo as the careless type of criminals, quite the opposite. They seemed calculating and deadly, the kind that Vorona adored, but Shizuo despised the most.

Izaya didn't seem to have any reservations, though, and that secretly reassured Shizuo in a way that he'd vehemently deny if someone were to ask him about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Hanako Yamada, Tarou Yamada - Japanese names for Jane and John Doe.


	6. Lullabies to Paralyze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating might be a little above "M" in this chapter (I don't really know how to judge it efficiently) so watch out for some scenes.
> 
> Chapter title refers to an album by Queens of the Stone Age.

For the next few days, Shizuo didn’t see Izaya at all.

He flew off to some city in Europe to track the painting that Namie Yagiri had sent around the world. The painting was that of a woman’s face that her creepy baby brother fell in love with, and they needed it if they wanted Seiji to meet up with Mika Harima. The girl refused to assist them unless a meeting with Seiji was guaranteed, and Izaya had to personally take off to try and find it.

It was kind of weird and surreal to live in Izaya’s apartment while the informant was gone, but Shizuo had gotten used to the comfort of it. There was so much light due to the height of the windows, and the mere thought of returning to his own little hole with one tainted window was enough to shrug off any lingering reservations he had about staying at Izaya’s. The informant kindly left him a spare set of keys, with a note that said _Don’t you dare invite anyone over!~._

Shizuo scoffed, immediately throwing the paper into the garbage bin. The handwriting was curly and pretty, _too_ pretty, reminding him of the note he woke up to after he was left to die in Hokkaido.

The first thing Shizuo did in the morning that he woke up alone was go through all of Izaya’s things.

He would never do that sort of thing to anyone else, due to his deeply ingrained respect for other people’s privacy, but this was Izaya. An informant who collected information about everything certainly didn’t deserve that kind of consideration. Especially if you considered the fact Shizuo’s privacy was a non-existent concept in Izaya’s worldview, where no part of Shizuo’s life was off-limits to him. He had even started making regular passes at Shizuo, frequently crossing physical boundaries since the night where their game of chicken backfired. Shizuo dwelled on that thought, wondering if there was a chance it meant anything, but it all reeked too much of desperate attempts to get under his skin. They weren’t even that successful, because Shizuo wasn’t a homophobe. After the initial bout of being flustered, he quickly got used to the new game, shrugging it off and shoving Izaya away every time he tried to get near him.

He went through the bedroom first — he found clothes, most of them matching the usual shades of black and red, five furcoats of the same cut and model, black underwear and socks. Aside from clothing items, the bedroom was completely empty, and so he moved to rummage through the living room.

There were too many bookshelves around. Diligent, Shizuo emptied each shelf, then put each book back, one by one, ruffling them up and checking the insides for any hidden items. Most of them were in Japanese, some in what looked like Russian, all of them plain text and with almost no pictures. He found a folded picture of Mairu and Kururi hidden behind a line of books. The girls looked surprised, their eyes widened, probably taken aback by the fact that Izaya was taking a picture of them. The shot had to be fairly recent — the girls had recently enrolled in Raira Academy, and Mairu was proudly wearing the new uniform. Shizuo carefully put the photograph back where he found it, a little puzzled by the item that so obviously spoke of brotherly affection. He had seen Izaya interact with the twins, and it had never occurred to him that Izaya was capable of feeling genuine love for the girls. He vaguely remembered questioning Izaya about that and receiving the same usual “ _they’re humans, so yes, I love them just like I love all of humanity!_ ”. Shizuo didn’t see pictures of all the rest of the humans on Earth behind the lines of books, so the sisters must have been a little special after all.

The next thing on the list was, of course, the desk. Shizuo was cautious about messing with the electronics — Izaya would be the type of person to place some sort of protection on the laptop and the PC, and god knew how dangerous it would be to try and crack them. Images of exploding computers filled his guarded mind, and Shizuo carefully touched the mouse, only to find the computer completely unlocked. He plopped down in the chair, shocked, staring at the bright screen that came to life the moment Shizuo disturbed its slumber.

Now this had to be a trick, Shizuo thought. Izaya most likely expected him to go through his things, and just to mess with him, he left his most prized possession unprotected. Shizuo clicked through the folders, finding all kinds of documents, pictures, videos. He wasn’t the most skilled with technology and information, but after scrolling through a couple of videos, he saw enough to realize that a lot of it had to be highly sensitive data, perhaps even blackmail material. Izaya was extremely fond of power-plays — Shizuo had seen him utilize the threat of releasing information on other targets before, when they worked together on other cases. Considering the volume of the stored information, this computer could easily be worth hundreds of millions. A little distressed to be messing with the informant’s livelihood, Shizuo left the computer alone. The idea of erasing everything crossed his mind for just a split second, but Shizuo wasn’t that kind of person. Even if it was purely part of a mind-game, Izaya still trusted him to be left alone with the item, and Shizuo couldn’t really find it in himself to break that kind of trust, no matter who it came from.

He rolled the chair away to focus on the drawers next. There was a ton of brand new burners in the top drawer; Shizuo messed with one, unsurprised. Considering how many sensitive phone-calls Izaya had to make, his reliance on untraceable throw-away phones made perfect sense. The next drawer kept thick folders of files with names of companies that Shizuo didn’t recognize; he skimmed the documents only to shove them back for lack of understanding. The third drawer was empty, save for the deck of cards that Izaya had shown him on the night of their stake-out.

He went through the cards again, this time paying more attention to the characters that Izaya chose to portray. Just like Izaya mentioned, Shizuo found Celty — a beautiful woman with brown curls, her eyes closed peacefully and lips curled in a gentle smile. The next one he recognized was Shinra, a cheerful young man in glasses in an impeccably white doctor’s coat. Shinra’s card had Celty in the background, faded out, which made a lot of sense. Shinra’s card wouldn’t exist without Celty’s.

Shizuo didn’t recognize anyone else in the bunch, aside from a blond kid who was probably Masaomi Kida and a sharp young man who reminded him of Mikado Ryuugamine. Ryuugamine’s card was stylistically separated in two colors, black and white, and Shizuo couldn’t tell if the kid’s smile was well-meaning or the opposite of it. He found Izaya’s card next — Izaya depicted himself plainly, his usual furcoat and the same facial expression that he usually showed the world. There were no embellishments, no fancy backgrounds or goldened edges. Oddly enough, Izaya’s card had the lowest value of 1, which meant that he was the weakest card in the deck. Shizuo’s was the strongest, with a value of 15.

When he reached down to put the deck back, wondering why someone as self-centered and self-serving as Izaya would give themselves the lowest value, Shizuo found the badge that he had lost a few weeks ago. It was wrapped in a silk handkerchief, placed neatly in the corner of the drawer which was why Shizuo didn’t notice it the first time he looked into it.

Shizuo grabbed ahold of the badge, the small dents on the edges confirming that it was indeed _his_. He had once clutched it too strongly when he was angry at some punk, leaving it with a permanent mark of his rage. Fucking flea, of course, had to be the one to steal it. Shizuo shook his head in disbelief, clipping the badge back onto his belt. He wasn’t even sure why he was surprised — the real question was, did Izaya steal it just to mess with him, or did he use it for something?

Shizuo wouldn’t know, not even after Izaya returned, because there was no point in asking a question when he wouldn’t believe the answer.

 

!

 

On the day of the event, they had everything set up and ready to go.

He, Vorona and Izaya were sitting in the back of a van a block away from the apartment building, the rest of the back-up spread around the area. The party was held at the penthouse at the very top floor of the building. Mika Harima had just successfully entered the area, with a bug wedged in between the stones of a fancy bracelet Izaya had bought for this occasion. She passed the security line; Shizuo heard Adabashi’s voice ask her name, and after a few minutes of silence followed by a barely audible scuffle, she whispered “ _all good_!”.

Shizuo tapped his foot nervously against the leather of the seat in front of him. Another cop was the driver, dressed in a delivery man’s attire to avoid raising suspicion for why a van was parked in a residential area. Shizuo’s anxiety over having an 18-year-old girl infiltrate a dangerous place on their behalf was obvious, manifesting itself in a mood more irritable than usual. He snapped at Izaya several times for no real reason, and the informant turned his attention to Vorona, gently shaking his head at Shizuo. Vorona couldn’t help but barrage Izaya with questions about Mikado Ryuugamine, and Izaya equivocated most of them, though by his amused smile he was enjoying the conversation.

Shizuo grumbled at them for finding the nerve to talk during these tense moments. He sat with the audio receiver close to his ear, and while the reception was loud and clear, it still annoyed him that the other two could have other things on their mind.

“Relax, Shizu-chan,” Izaya drawled, looking at him with an insufferable smile. “You really shouldn’t worry about Mika-chan. She’s tougher than you are, mentally, I mean.”

“Fuck off,” Shizuo huffed, but he couldn’t afford to get riled up because he needed to focus on the radio receiver. Any moment now Mika Harima could give them the green light, or god forbid she got into any trouble.

He glared at Izaya who was casually lying on his back, taking the entirety of one of the longer seats. The small man looked funny all vested up. They all were, the protocol necessitated it, even for Shizuo. Izaya wasn’t a fan of the idea when Shizuo suggested it, but it was either the vest, or he couldn’t come along, and then Izaya immediately agreed to it. Shizuo would prefer it if Izaya stayed back, but he couldn’t convince him otherwise.

For the next hour or so, he didn’t hear much aside from the sounds of people talking and mingling. Harima made effective small-talk, assuming a completely different persona from the one Shizuo saw yesterday when they met to discuss the details. She pretended to be dumber and acted normal, flirting with male voices that sounded delighted to respond in the same manner.

An entire hour of small-talk was beginning to give him a headache, but then Shizuo heard something that instantly snapped him to attention.

“ _You're a new face around here. Want me to let you in on a secret?_ ” a low voice murmured. The tone lacked a flirtatious quality, more predatory in nature.

Harima gasped. “ _A secret?_ ”

“ _Yes, a secret. A way to be closer to the people who made us_.”

Shizuo shushed the other two, and Vorona leaned in to listen. Izaya propped himself up by the elbows, but he looked only mildly interested.

“ _I would love to be closer to the maker_ ,” Harima said, not a falter in her voice.

“ _Good girl. Come up with us then._ ”

Shizuo’s heartbeat quickened. The maker had to be in reference of the cult beliefs that Yagiri attempted to drill into Harima’s head, some sort of messed up ideology where they were supposed to give up blood for the sake of purification of the people in attendance.

“Be ready,” Vorona said into her radio. She opened the back-door of the van, ready to move. Something had to go down any moment. There were sounds of muffled steps, and then Mika whispered the codeword, “ _Ah, this is where I belong._ ”

That was their code that something illegal was happening, enough to incriminate everyone present. Shizuo sprinted out, running through the pavement and barging through the front door. The rest of the squad was collapsing from both sides, and they crowded the elevator, taking it to the top floor.

“POLICE! Open up!” men shouted at the door, and after a few loud knocks, they busted it down.

They entered the perimeter, panicked guests scattering but none able to leave. No one was allowed to leave until they were cleared. All of them raised their hands up, some of them dropping their drinks while doing so. Anywhere Shizuo looked, he saw fear and confusion.

He couldn’t understand. The first few bright rooms looked like your normal party — lots of wine, tables chock-full of delicious desserts, glittering dresses and lots of suits. Mika Harima came running at him, an inappropriate smile on her face considering the circumstances.

“Where is Izaya-san?” she demanded, standing in his way, hands on her hips. Shizuo stared down at her, wondering if she was crazy, but then again, Izaya did say she had a few loose screws in her head. The girl was unharmed, so his next concern was what the girl saw that made her call them in.

“Where is the—?”

She gestured behind herself, towards a half-opened door. Shizuo rushed past her, busting through the doors, wondering just how big a single penthouse could get. Finally, he saw a staircase, and he ran up three steps at a time, oblivious to where the rest of the squad was.

The door-knob at the top of the staircase wouldn’t budge, and he kicked it open with a loud crack, shattering the lock.

The view inside almost made him puke on the spot. It looked like a religious gathering, with robed men and candles all around, on the floor, on the shelves, even pinned to the walls. The men were wearing animal masks, circled around a naked woman that was lying on an elevated flat surface. Two of them were on their knees kissing her wrists, though on second look, they were drinking the blood out of slim cuts on the skin. The picture was enough to send Shizuo’s rage off the charts. He couldn’t remember much after he snapped, but he woke up to a room full of fallen bodies, a couple of knives stuck in his chest, and Izaya holding him from behind, trying to restrain him.

“Shizu—”

Shizuo shoved him away, but there was too much strength in it that surged from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it sent Izaya flying back into the bookshelf on the other end of the room. Books and heavy items rained on him, and Izaya curled up, covering his head to shield it from damage.

There was no time to worry about Izaya. Shizuo blinked the rage away, methodically pulling out the knives that stung the most, then hurried to tend to the wounded girl on the table, stepping over the unconscious bodies. She was still breathing, the pallor of her skin nauseating white. He gently lifted her off the surface, careful not to press on any open wounds. There was an ambulance downstairs in case they found an injured person, and Shizuo rushed out of the room, cradling the lifeless body, his mind numb. He hesitated at the threshold, in the corner of his eye noticing a large shiny trophy falling on top of Izaya, but he had no time to spare.

Outside on the street, he handed the girl off to the paramedics, then scanned the perimeter. Lots of people were arrested, pending further development on their identities and reasons to be there. Police escorted them out, one by one, lining them up against the flashing lights of their cars. None of the girls had Mika Harima’s light brown hair, but all of them had the same scar around their necks. Some of the arrested men were yelling at the cops, threatening them with consequences because they believed themselves to be important. There was some ruckus to his left, and he saw Vorona kick Adabashi’s face, the tall man falling to his knees. She seemed to have it under control. Tom was there too, and he gave Shizuo a nod.

Shizuo headed back inside. The candle-lit room with the stand in the middle was the last spot he had checked, and he wanted to continue searching for more from there. He wanted to see Izaya, too, to make sure the heavy trophy didn’t bash Izaya’s skull into the ground.

Of course, Izaya was unscathed. People like him didn’t get hurt from random falling objects.

When Shizuo entered the room, Izaya was hunched over the desk shuffling through some files. Thinking himself to be alone, he slipped some of them under his vest, then bent down to check the bottom drawers of the hardwood desk. His movements were quick and precise, as if he was in a hurry to be done.

For some reason, Shizuo moved to close the door behind him, muffling the loud sounds of the commotion downstairs.

“What are you doing?”

Izaya’s slender frame shuddered. He slowly turned around, smiling. “Oh, it’s you. You scared me!” He leaned against the desk, sliding the drawers shut. “How’d everything go? Your men should probably clean this up, too.” He waved his hand at the unconscious masked bodies on the floor.

“You’re messing with my crime scene, Izaya-kun,” Shizuo said, voice lower than usual. He walked over to stand in front of him, staring down at the informant. His height advantage always made him feel superior, because it forced the smaller man to look up at him. Not that it affected Izaya in any way, aside from his craned neck; his smile was as brilliant as ever.

“What do you mean?” Izaya asked. “I stayed behind to look over these despicable men. Who knows what other terrible things they would look to do if they woke up, right?” His gaze traveled down to fix on the one knife still stuck in Shizuo’s chest. “Monster,” he murmured, raising his hand and placing on Shizuo’s vest, an inch away from the blade.

Shizuo blinked, realizing that Izaya was right. He did look kind of monstrous, running around with a knife in him like it was nothing. Slowly, Izaya moved his fingers to curl around the handle of the knife, and Shizuo tensed, growling a warning. “Let me,” Izaya quietly insisted.

Shizuo was prepared for the knife to twist around in him or to shove deeper, but in one swift motion, Izaya pulled the blade out. The removal of the object sent his nerves crying out in pain, and Shizuo grunted something incoherent. He was about to step away, but Izaya pressed his hand to the wound, his lowered eyes reflecting the many candles that surrounded them. He seemed mesmerized by Shizuo’s injury, with the blood that was squirting out in small gushes, soaking the bulletproof vest. The fabric excelled at minimizing damage from projectiles, designed to spread the impact across a wider area, but it did nothing to stop a knife from slipping through the threads.

It was confusing. In these moments of quiet after a major commotion, Shizuo was lost in the labyrinth of his own conflicting emotions. They defeated an important enemy today, yet to Shizuo, the main antagonist had always been Izaya, and Izaya was standing right in front of him, unharmed and unaffected, bold enough to be caressing his injury. The touch brought nothing but pain, but strangely, Shizuo didn’t mind, the sharp sting of the wounded tissues keeping him awake, because just like Izaya was enthralled by his wound, Shizuo was also caught in the moment that he had yet to understand himself.

The rational part of his mind urged him to grab Izaya and strip him of the papers that he had stolen just minutes ago. The rest tempted him to let Izaya do whatever he was doing, giving in into the curiosity to observe what he would do next. Five years ago, Izaya would have jumped on the chance to shove the knife deeper into him. The Izaya of this moment wasn’t much kinder. His fingers prodded the injury, and emboldened by Shizuo’s passivity, Izaya sunk fingers into him, causing Shizuo to gasp from the burning pain. Involuntarily, he leaned forward, and Izaya readily wrapped his free arm around his shoulders, his other hand still trapped in the open wound.

His nose buried itself in Izaya’s bony shoulder, mind buzzing with confusion. Pain kept him on the edge of consciousness, but reality felt like a hot dream, and a part of him wondered if Izaya didn’t just administer some sort of drug to the wound to incapacitate him. He clutched his hand into a fist behind Izaya’s back to test how responsive his body was, only to realize that he had full control. The stupor was induced by his mind alone, and Shizuo succumbed into the moment, pressing his body closer to Izaya’s. His fingers strayed into Izaya’s hair, grabbing a handful of the glossy hair, and Izaya bit on his ear in protest.

Time froze for Shizuo. There was a certain intoxicating feeling in being so close to a sworn enemy, the danger, the paranoia, the sharp fingers stabbing into him, reminding him of their relationship. He wanted to hurt Izaya back, maybe bite into his flesh, but Izaya was wearing the thick vest that protected his skinny shoulders. Shizuo muffled something incoherent into the shoulder he was breathing into, and Izaya forcibly pulled away, his back digging into the desk. Shizuo blinked, looking at him in even greater confusion — the moment was slowly slipping away, and he didn’t want it to die. Izaya lightly shrugged, smile growing wider. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from the abused wound. Blood trickled down his slender fingers, trailing down his forearm and staining the furry ends of his coat cuffs.

“You might want to patch that up,” Izaya drawled. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking the red away. Shizuo staggered backwards, staring at the way Izaya’s mouth wrapped around the flesh. It was both disgusting and inviting, inciting a strange feeling within his body.

The door creaked open behind them, and Shizuo hurried to put even more distance between him and Izaya, stumbling over the bodies on the floor. Mika Harima peeked through, scanning the unconscious bodies on the floor and the two men that were supposed to be dealing with them.

“Iiiizaya-san,” she whined, storming through the room. Izaya quickly wiped the rest of the blood with a napkin and threw it on the floor. “You promised me Seiji if I did well tonight!”

“So impatient, Mika-chan,” Izaya chided her, ruffling her hair up with his clean hand. She clasped her tiny hands into angry fists, looking at him with an adamant fire in her brown eyes.

“You _promised_! You know I will kill you if I don’t get my Seiji, right?” she sang, fully meaning what she said.

“I do!” Izaya said, laughing. “I traveled all the way to Belgium just for you, you know? You could be a little more grateful.”

“You found the painting?”

“Mhmm.”

“Then Seiji is mine!” she exclaimed, happy. “Do I look like the woman in it?”

“You’re her spitting image, my dear.”

“Harima,” Shizuo said, interrupting the crazy banter. His voice was shaky, but he managed to speak normally for the next sentence. “Go downstairs and tell my men to come up here.”

Frankly, he didn’t know why they hadn’t come up yet. Harima looked back at him with a sweet smile, then saluted. “Yessir!” she ran out of the room, her exuberance a great contrast to how emotionally drained Shizuo was feeling.

“Don’t look so sullen, Shizu-chan,” Izaya shook his head. Shizuo gestured him closer, and Izaya obediently approached him. “Hmm?”

“Strip,” Shizuo said simply.

“Oh?” Izaya raised his eyebrows.

“Strip. Take off your clothes.”

Izaya took a step back, blinking. He didn’t seem to understand the order, for once looking confused. With a sigh, Shizuo slapped him with the back of his hand and used the shock of the attack to tear Izaya’s vest apart. The white sheets came falling on the floor, scattering in the air like leaves. Shizuo collected them, then stuffed them under his armpit, careful not to smudge blood over them.

“Let’s go,” he threw over his shoulder and headed towards the door.

Izaya teetered after him, dazed and hand over his busted lip.

 

!

 

In the end, they let everyone but Adabashi free. They recorded everyone’s identities, but only Adabashi had enough on him to be officially arrested.

They couldn’t even arrest the people that attacked Shizuo with knives. He was too enraged to identify himself as a cop, or say anything at all, so their actions were a case of natural self-defense. Most of them turned out to be local politicians, who threatened to take Shizuo down for having beaten them up if a word about what happened that night reached the media.

As for the women, it was like Shinra said. They all claimed to have been there willingly, highly displeased with the intervention from the police. Even the woman that was cut on refused to incriminate anyone, when she came to her senses. She acted appalled at being put in a hospital against her wish, in a hurry to check herself out. Shizuo’s hands were tied when the victims didn’t claim to be forced into anything illegal, and he felt out of his depth with the scope of the case. He focused on dealing with Adabashi first, and Vorona suggested that they hand the rest of the case to the Major Cases unit, because they knew how to deal with kidnappings and human trafficking.

Half the night Shizuo spent trying to crack Adabashi in the interrogation room, Vorona by his side, loyal as always. Izaya was sleeping in the squadroom, curled up on the stone-bench they reserved for felons. When Shizuo came out of the interrogation room, tired and bleary-eyed, Izaya somehow sensed it and sat up, blinking sleep away. “Did he fess up?” he asked, voice lacking the usual edge.

“Yeah,” Shizuo said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was dying to get some sleep. “He told us where the body is. I’ll check the location tomorrow.”

Izaya clapped his hands. “Isn’t that just so great, Shizu-chan? Your case is solved!”

Shizuo didn’t feel like it was solved.

Yagiri was still out there, and they let go of a lot of people that night. Hell, Shizuo beat up an entire room of masked perverts, but they hadn’t technically done anything illegal. Bloodletting wasn’t against the law if it was consensual, as long as no-one died. The three women that did die could only be tied to Adabashi, due to their supposed witness — Shizuo still didn’t know if Masaomi actually saw Adabashi that night, but the car model matched, and Adabashi seemed to believe it when Vorona threatened to put the three murders on him. He called his lawyer, and they came to an agreement that if they led the police to the body, his charge would be reduced to a second degree murder (of the murderer of the three women). According to Adabashi, the man was a prominent business-man that enjoyed the rituals a little too much, and he invited the three women to his house, even though that was against the rules. He messed up, more than once, and Adabashi was ordered to take care of him. When Shizuo questioned him about Jinnai Yodogiri, Adabashi feigned complete ignorance, refusing to budge on it no matter how much they pressed it. He did give up Yagiri though, saying that the clinic’s role was to make the women prettier and making sure that they didn’t have any diseases, arranging for regular medical check-ups. When they asked him where the women came from, Adabashi only shrugged, saying he only managed the parties.

“Yagiri’s still in the clear,” Shizuo sighed. He sat down next to Izaya, leaning his head back against the cold wall. “I know that the women aren’t there willingly. Harima wasn’t.”

“Well, now that she’s working with us, isn’t her word enough?” Izaya asked. “She can testify.”

“Not really,” Shizuo mumbled. “Girl’s in love with Yagiri’s brother. If I bring the case in based just on her testimony, they write it off as her being crazy. And they wouldn’t be wrong about that.”

“So what will you do? Are you closing the case?”

“If I get the body tomorrow, yeah. Adabashi provided a clear account of what went down, and the knives used at the party matched the wounds of our victims. But I just can’t let Yagiri get off the hook,” Shizuo said, stubborn. “I think I can get a warrant to search the clinic at least, with Harima’s and Adabashi’s words. If we can tie them to the case, we can dig deeper, maybe even get warrants for wire-tapping Yagiri, the clinic, get access to all those records. It’d be a much bigger case, though, they’d probably assign a detail to it. Human trafficking isn’t my jurisdiction.”

They sat in silence for a little longer, Shizuo tiredly thinking over what happened. One question in particular loomed over him, nagging at him in the back of his mind.

He turned to ask Izaya. “Who did you tell them to kidnap? Those women tonight, did you know them?”

Izaya’s tired smile flinched at the corner of his lips. “Since when do you ask me questions? You never believe my answers anyway.”

“Answer the goddamn question.”

“No, I didn’t know those women.”

“Then who did you tell them to kidnap?”

“Information doesn’t come free, Shizu-chan,” Izaya said in a low murmur. “We can transact, though.”

“You mean you would sell me that info?”

“Mhm. And I don’t lie when I sell information. It’s ill-advised in my line of business.”

“Well, sure,” Shizuo blinked, wondering why the thought never occurred to him. “I don’t have much money though. How much will it cost?”

“Not money,” Izaya said vaguely.

“Then what?”

Izaya scooted closer to him.

“Will you go home tonight?” Izaya asked, cocking his head. “Now that the case is closed?”

“Case isn’t closed yet,” Shizuo said. “Tomorrow Tom-san wants us to try knocking on Yagiri’s door. I’m sure with Harima’s testimony we can get a warrant.”

“So you’ll sleep at my place tonight,” Izaya coyly smiled.

Shizuo gave him a sidelong glance. “What are you trying to say?”

“Oh, nothing. My bed is nicer than your mattress though, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Come _on_ , Izaya-kun,” Shizuo scrunched his nose, too exhausted to get mad over the shameless invitation. “Stop with that shit. I’m not gay, and even if I were, you’d be the last person I’d be interested in. How do you even know I sleep on a mattress? You’ve never been to my place.”

“That you know of,” Izaya said, visibly deflated at the rejection.

“Fuck,” Shizuo sighed. “I’m so fucking spent.”

In the end Shizuo couldn’t get anything out of him, but there was one silver lining to the case wrapping up in a such a disappointing way — he wouldn’t have to be around Izaya anymore.

 

!

 

Izaya didn’t seem to know how to handle rejection.

Shizuo was sitting in a chair with a glass of whiskey, enjoying a drink before he headed to bed. The clock struck 2 AM a little while ago, and he was brooding over the fact that Yagiri was slipping away from his reach. He really hoped to find something incriminating in the papers that Izaya tried to steal, but it was just a bunch of contracts between some companies that Shizuo didn’t know much about. He faxed the information to Vorona, because she was amazing with tracing connections like that.

In the meantime, Izaya was coming onto him, hard, and he didn’t seem to take _no_ for an answer. Shizuo clutched onto his drink, sensing Izaya approach his chair from behind. He leaned over Shizuo, his mouth pressing into the back of Shizuo’s head.

“You really are crazy,” Shizuo said, stiffening.

“Mm?” Izaya purred, small hands undoing the top buttons of Shizuo’s shirt and slipping underneath. Quick, cold fingers.

“I can snap your neck in two, yet you still keep pulling stunts like this.”

Shizuo fidgeted, and for some reason his mind kept returning to the way Izaya hurt him earlier that night. He was bandaged up by now, the nurse at the ambulance horrified by the fact that Shizuo was completely unaffected by a knife cut that deep. But there was a strange hiccup in his thinking when he gave Izaya the freedom to mess with his body. The way he leaned into him, as if he welcomed the pain. Shizuo still hadn’t figured why he allowed something like that to happen, partly because he refused to think back on it.

“I don’t see how this is crazy. These games I win either way, actually.”

“You die if your neck is broken; that’s a loss,” Shizuo growled the words that he knew carried no weight. He hadn’t been able to hurt Izaya for a while now, aside from a little smack earlier that night. A busted lip was nothing compared to the death threats he’d spat at him when they were both twenty.

“Dying would be a bit of a bummer, but then Shizu-chan would go to jail and feel bad for the rest of his life. And everyone would learn what a monster you are,” Izaya said, warm breath over Shizuo’s neck. “Not that you would. Your threats have long lost potency, Shizu-chan. And that means I can freely touch you and observe you being so deliciously conflicted.”

“C-Conflicted,” Shizuo repeated, struggling to not to focus on the way the hands felt against his skin. “You really think I’m conflicted?”

“Mhmm. That’s why you were dying to grasp for tiny bits of good in me, right? Those half-hearted attempts to discuss morality? You were thinking, _If Izaya Orihara has something good about him, I won’t have to feel so bad about desiring him_ ,” Izaya mimicked the low-pitch of Shizuo’s voice, then exploded in an excited laugh. His fingers clawed at the skin, nails dragging across the collarbone.

Shizuo jolted in his seat, throwing off the snake-like hands. “You’re fucking crazy,” he spat, swallowing his shock. “You’re delusional.”

 _This_ was how Izaya interpreted his inner dilemma? Shizuo didn’t know why he felt reluctant to jump on the chance to lock the flea up, but it wasn’t _this_.

“I can be delusional sometimes,” Izaya admitted, changing his tone to bored. He moved over to sit on the arm of the chair, then looked at him with pity, of all things. “Want me to prove it to you?”

“How would you—”

Izaya cut him short by slipping into his lap. Shizuo recoiled deeper into the chair, but Izaya placed his hands on Shizuo’s shoulders, shifting his weight and moving to press closer to him.

“How’s this?” Izaya murmured.

“Uh,” Shizuo was speechless. Izaya was _impossibly_ close, but for some reason he couldn’t find it in himself to move. “This doesn't prove shit,” he managed, his arms idle. He was too stubborn to even consider the idea of touching Izaya. He wasn’t playing any games, but he was gonna prove it to Izaya that he wasn’t in the least bit interested in him, that way or any other. The proximity unnerved him because this was _Izaya_. Anyone would be disturbed. Anyone would lose their breath.

Izaya brought his face closer, breathing over Shizuo’s lips. Shizuo turned away, frown deepening. “I’m serious, Izaya-kun,” he said again. “I’m sure lots of other men find you attractive if they can ignore your personality, but I just don’t swing that way.”

He almost felt bad for Izaya, because rejection probably wasn’t a frequent occurrence for him considering how popular Izaya seemed with both sexes. The man didn’t look disheartened though. He tipped his head forward, sliding his lips along Shizuo’s neck, barely coming in contact, and a small shiver ran down Shizuo’s spine.

“That’s cheating,” Shizuo protested against the warmth that spread over him. “That’s just my body responding to a—”

Izaya softly chuckled, hugging him to cut him short, and Shizuo felt how sharp the body pressed against him was, the hips and the shoulders. “Your pupils are dilated,” Izaya lilted. “Your pulse is quickened.” He slipped his hand underneath Shizuo’s and forced their fingers to interlace. “And I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Shizuo stared at their joined hands. Minutes later he realized he actually forgot to breathe, and he took a hitched, shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, then abruptly stood up, throwing the man off of him. Izaya took a graceful fall, ending up on his feet and reminding Shizuo of a black cat. Izaya quickly got up and dove into the chair that Shizuo abandoned, bringing his knees up under his chin.

“Our case will most likely end tomorrow, Shizu-chan. After that, I’m leaving town for a bit, and you won’t see me.”

“Sounds great,” Shizuo muttered. “I’d love that.”

“I’ve cooperated with you the entire time. Why do you reject me still?”

“Why are you so fucking desperate?” Shizuo asked, incredulous. He walked over to the coffee table, fumbling for his cigarettes. “I really thought you were just itching for a fuck or something, but you keep coming onto _me_ of all people. Didn’t you have an army of admirers at some point?”

“There has to be a way to make it appealing to you,” Izaya said, ignoring his questions. “What is it, Shizu-chan? What’s your price?”

“Now you’re trying to fucking buy me?” Shizuo laughed in disbelief. “Fuck, the nerve you got.”

“Everyone has a price,” Izaya insisted.

 _Did_ Shizuo have a price? He puffed smoke, thinking about it. The idea of doing a man didn’t disgust him per se, but it wasn’t terribly appealing either. Why would he? Against all reason, he imagined bending Izaya over the kitchen counter, the images flooding his mind, and his lips almost dropped the cigarette from how vivid his imagination was. He swallowed sharp, realizing to his horror that something twitched between his thighs in response to the mental pictures he shuffled through.

What was so appealing about it? The control, Shizuo found the answer immediately. He always wanted to control, to restrain Izaya, and the idea of sexual domination over him was maddeningly arousing.

“What the fuck,” Shizuo muttered, clenching the cigarette between his gritted teeth. He dropped to sit on the couch, reclining against the back of it, a deep frown between his brows.

“Care to share your revelations?” Izaya coyly asked, noticing the loaded silence.

Shizuo couldn’t hear his voice when he asked, his heartbeat too loud. “How far are you willing to go?”

“Oh, Shizu-chan,” Izaya sighed, a strange longing in his voice. “As far as you’ll let me.”

Shizuo crushed the cigarette against the glass of the ashtray and stiffly gestured him over. Izaya readily slipped into Shizuo’s lap, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Just so you know, this is not a fucking game,” Shizuo said, hesitant but firm. His body was so frozen underneath Izaya, he felt like a block of ice. “You’re not winning anything, and I’m not fighting. Since you’re so desperate for this, you will do anything I say, and you don’t try to turn this into some fucked-up contest. _Understood_?”

“Understood,” Izaya echoed in a murmur. His face was so close to Shizuo’s, he could count the number of eyelashes in Izaya’s heavy-lidded eyes. Off-handedly, Shizuo traced a finger over the cut in Izaya’s lip, feeling a twinge of guilt. It must have hurt Izaya to smile that wide, with that swollen wound that kept re-opening. He slid a hand under Izaya’s shirt, testing the way it would feel to hold him. It was amusing how out of his comfort zone Izaya looked, a faint tremble in his body and the small nervous quality to his smile. Underneath the mask of casualty, Izaya looked absolutely thrilled, like a little child who woke up to a surprise party.

“Fuck,” Shizuo cursed again, heat washing over his face. He didn’t really know what he signed up for. “I’ve never fucked a guy before.”

Overcome by panic, he shoved Izaya off, and the man dropped on the floor, looking up at him with a hurt expression.

“How many times are you planning to reject me in one night?” Izaya asked bitterly. “I thought this wasn’t a _game_ , Shizu-chan, but you keep playing me.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t mean to mislead you,” Shizuo said, feeling guilty. “This _is_ pretty fucked up.”

“Let’s start with something normal then,” Izaya suggested. He crawled over to nestle himself between Shizuo’s legs, placing hands on the knees.

Shizuo watched Izaya’s deft hands go for his belt and slowly nodded. He was already half-hard from the thought of Izaya going down on him. Ready to dive into it before he changed his mind again, he lowered his pants and watched Izaya’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Don’t fucking say anything,” Shizuo muttered, not wanting to hear anything, even if it was a compliment.

Izaya smiled wider, leaning in to nuzzle his nose into the exposed shaft, the touch of skin soft and electrifying. Small fingers curled around the base, and Izaya wrapped his lips around the tip, forcing a deep guttural groan from Shizuo’s throat from how good the pressure felt. He cussed incoherently, fully hard at this point, the mere view of Izaya’s mouth around him arousing him to a point that he had never felt before. Izaya’s tongue danced around the slit, teasing, and Shizuo thrust his hips forward, impatient; he wanted to shove deep into Izaya’s throat, to see the man choke on the length, but he had to restrain himself. Sex and abuse didn’t really go together in his mind. He grabbed a fistful of Izaya’s hair instead, tugging a little too strongly, and began guiding his head up and down, making Izaya take all of it and suppressing the sounds that wanted to come out of his throat.

Sounds of licking and panting filled the room. The air slowly filled up with the thick, delicious scent of sex and sweat, and Shizuo’s mind was overloaded by the picture in front of him, ready to short-circuit; the way the entirety of his cock disappeared in Izaya’s mouth, and how hot it looked, how hot it felt, everything felt like too much. Izaya looked beautiful around him. In that moment, none of it seemed wrong or crazy, he was between Shizuo’s legs like he belonged there. There was a sheen of sweat glistening on the forehead, and Izaya’s eyes were focused, half-open, darkened by lust. Every now and then he would look up at Shizuo, and Shizuo couldn’t break the eye contact, no matter how much he wanted to. He stared right into the man’s eyes, taking in every little detail of what was happening. Izaya’s mouth was too full with Shizuo’s cock to form an actual smile, but there was a faint hint of it at the corner of the lips. He looked a little pained, too, because every time Shizuo slid in and out of his mouth, the cut on his lip must have stung more.

Shizuo’s left hand weaved deeper through Izaya’s hair, upping the rhythm, while his other hand fumbled for the phone in the pocket of his lowered pants. Izaya noticed the raised phone and moaned in loud protest. He looked panicked at the idea of being photographed in this position, and Shizuo bit his lip, wondering if he could get away with this. Izaya didn’t trust him. Shizuo wasn’t planning to do anything with the photos, but there was no way Izaya would believe that.

Izaya didn’t stop sucking though, and Shizuo took it as his permission. He groaned at the increase in intensity of the heat, feeling the end nearing, and snapped a picture with his shaking hand. The phone clicked once, twice, then for a third time, and each time Shizuo couldn’t get over how eagerly Izaya was going down on him. Feeling that it was the end soon, he stumbled to get up, Izaya adjusting to follow him without his mouth leaving the cock, and after a few deep, full-length thrusts, Shizuo spilled all over Izaya’s face, white jizz smearing his cheeks, nose, eyelashes, dripping down onto the collarbone. He stood completely still for a second, resting his sated cock against Izaya’s cheeks, his hand still holding him by the hair. The shock of the release paralyzed him; he didn’t know he could come so hard before. He meant to finish somewhere else, but he didn’t manage to move away in time.

“Sorry,” Shizuo mumbled, shuddering again, “it’s been a while, fuck.” He reached for his phone again, his movements slow and uncoordinated, and Izaya looked up at him, blinking. The fourth picture captured the dreamy look he was wearing in that moment, sitting down on the floor and short of breath, his face covered in semen.

Izaya made no motion to wipe the cum away. Feeling awkward and responsible for the mess, Shizuo squatted down and began cleaning him up with the sleeve of his shirt, trying not to think of the fact that he was staining the clothes his brother gave him. He made sure to wipe away every little drop, careful not to brush the swollen lip. Izaya didn’t resist, obediently looking up and accepting the cleaning like a helpless kitten. Without much thought, Shizuo leaned in closer and kissed Izaya’s lower lip, licking the blood away. The cut welled up with blood immediately after, and Shizuo kissed it again, falling forward. They collapsed on the floor, Shizuo on top of him, his wet cock rubbing somewhere against the jeans of the man under him. Izaya’s surprised moans filled his hearing.

The truth was, Shizuo was really fucking exhausted. He pinned Izaya down with the weight of his body, lost in the afterglow of his finish, and Izaya seemed to welcome the development, throwing arms around him and arching up to press closer to him. Kissing was probably the last thing Izaya wanted to do with his severely abused lip, so Shizuo forced himself to stop devouring the mouth and trailed down to kiss the chin, the neck, whatever skin he could reach. He propped himself up to have just enough elbow room to tear Izaya’s t-shirt apart.

Shizuo wanted to see all of him. He didn’t know what it meant to Izaya, whether Izaya was playing another game or not, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t a release of pent-up sexual frustration because he hadn’t done this in, god, more than a year by now. He didn’t use this as a way to get off. He _wanted_ Izaya, wanted to see him naked, see places that the informant probably rarely showed to anyone else. Hell, even if Izaya was a slut, Shizuo would still want it because it meant something else entirely when he was letting _Shizuo_ do all this. This took trust, whatever abomination of it was possible between the two of them, but Shizuo demanded whatever he could get.

The floor was cold and hard, though, so he scooped him up by the hips, slinging the man across his shoulder, a loud gasp erupting from Izaya’s mouth at the sudden pull. On the way to the bedroom, Shizuo struggled out of his pants, kicking them off at the door.

“Strip for real this time,” Shizuo ordered, tossing him on the sheets and taking off his cum-stained shirt. Izaya obeyed, wiggling out of the skinny jeans along with the boxers and shaking off what was left of his torn t-shirt. All of him was revealed, and Shizuo took in the sight, what he could see through the dark. He reached for the bed lamp to turn the dim light on, because he wasn’t about to let Izaya stay hidden in the shadows. Izaya didn’t seem to mind, a nervous smile on the lips and eyes glimmering with excitement.

Shizuo climbed on the bed, between Izaya’s legs, grabbing one by the back of the thigh and setting it up-right against Izaya’s chest. Naked and vulnerable, Izaya shivered in his hold, red eyes guarded for once. Shizuo couldn’t imagine being in that position himself — on the back, legs up, his rear open. It was mind-blowing that Izaya was letting him do this. Mind-blowing and unbelievably exciting, and his cock was pulsating again, filling up with heat for the second time.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Shizuo said, voice low and hollow. It felt right to announce it so Izaya would have one last chance to back out of it.

Izaya lowered his eyelids, smile smooth and blissful, and Shizuo started touching. He explored every inch of Izaya’s body, determined to reach every little spot, admiring the silky softness of the pale skin. The softest spots, he found, were the back of the knees and the inner of his thighs. Clutching the bedsheets, Izaya lay still while he was being felt around, his own cock fully hard. There was a drop of precum glistening on the tip, and Shizuo roughly cupped it, brushing it away with his thumb. Izaya arched his back at the touch, whimpering a sound he hadn’t made before, and Shizuo decided he wanted to hear more of that. He played with the cock for a little longer, getting Izaya to make the most interesting sounds. Every time he brought him to the beginning of the end, Shizuo would slow down, because there was nothing hotter to him in that moment than the sight of Izaya squirming and quivering on the sheets. His own erection throbbed, pained by the lack of physical stimulation.

“Cruel… Shizu-chan…” Izaya said breathlessly, desperate to finish. “Play n-nice with me… it’s my first time.”

“ _Right_ ,” Shizuo grumbled, not buying it for a second and pulling a little too strongly to force a high-pitched gasp out of Izaya. In a few rehearsed strokes, Shizuo brought him to the climax, and Izaya spilled into his hand, shuddering from the waves of pleasure. He closed his eyes, lying lifeless on the sheets. Tiny sweat beads adorned his beautiful face, and Shizuo tiredly wondered why he had never noticed before just how perfect Izaya’s face was.

Still painfully hard, Shizuo wiped his hands off on the sheets and turned his attention to the one place he hadn’t touched yet. He had very little knowledge of how this was supposed to work, but he believed he could improvise. Brave, he rubbed a finger down there, feeling it out. It was a lot tighter than he had expected it to be, the muscles refusing to stretch to let a single finger in, and he wondered if it was even possible to fit his cock down there. Definitely not without extra aid. He glanced at the drawers, but he had gone through them before finding nothing. “Izaya. Where do you keep the, uh, stuff?”

Izaya laughed breathlessly, a coy hand over his mouth. “Shizu-chan, I told you it was my first time. Now why would I keep a lubricant ready if I’m a virgin?”

“Jesus,” Shizuo said, straightening up. “You’re twenty-seven. And you’re _you_.”

How could _Izaya_ be a virgin? He was the biggest flirt Shizuo had known, but it didn’t seem to be a lie when so many things pointed to it. It would explain why Izaya was so damn susceptible to the slightest of touch. The way he got fully hard a few nights ago when Shizuo touched him for a minute, or the way he had come so hard from the world’s most awkward hand-job. Shizuo was horrified at the thought of being the one to take Izaya’s virginity, but it seemed a little too late to worry about that when they had already engaged in oral sex and other things.

“Not sure what that’s supposed to mean…” Izaya breathed out, still coming off from his release. “I love my humans from afar; having sex with them never really entered my mind.”

“But fucking a monster did, huh?”

“I tend to act on my whims,” Izaya smiled wide and bright and looked like he regretted it, reminded of the cut on his lip.

“Well, fuck,” Shizuo said, getting off of him. “I think this is enough for you then.”

He couldn’t really dare to try and fuck Izaya without any lube when the man was a fucking virgin. Shizuo was actually _hoping_ that Izaya was fully gay and very experienced, but with both of them new and clueless, there could be pain involved that Shizuo wasn’t eager to deal with. He’d rather just punch Izaya senseless than hurt him sexually.

Izaya’s smile disappeared as he sat up and tried to pull a blanket over himself, but Shizuo slapped his hands away. “Let me see you,” he demanded, reluctant to let Izaya retreat again. He wanted to keep the night going, at least for a little while longer. It was the first time Izaya was acting genuine; his smiles lacked malice, and his body language was shockingly self-conscious. It wasn’t obvious that Izaya felt vulnerable, but Shizuo could see the way he tried to curl up when the covers were denied for him.

Shizuo walked over to the door to pick up his ditched pants and pulled his boxers on. When he came back, Izaya was hugging his knees, leaning back against the bed frame.

“I’m cold,” he murmured, looking up at him from above his folded arms. “And I need a shower.”

“Just stay like this for a moment,” Shizuo said. He brought the phone up again, and Izaya looked at him skeptically. Shizuo was expecting to hear protests, but Izaya must have decided to humor him, because he leaned forward into the frame, a seductive smile on his lips and two digits up to sign peace. Shizuo snapped the picture and stared at the perfection that was captured on the screen. Izaya looked good even when he was worn out and sporting the puffiest lower lip. Shizuo wanted to take many more, but he knew that he was acting weird, even by Izaya’s standards.

“Where the fuck do we go from here?” Shizuo asked quietly, because it finally dawned on him, the extent of the things they did. He sat on the edge of the mattress, about to take out a cigarette, when Izaya crawled over and snatched the cigarette pack out of his hands. “Hey, I need those.”

“Let me,” Izaya insisted, plucking a cigarette from the pack and stuffing it in between his lips.

Shizuo stared at him, surprised by the initiative. He was dead tired and exhausted though, so he accepted the invitation, sprawling out on the bed with a soft groan. Izaya sat by his side, naked but unabashed, leaning forward to bring the lit cigarette to Shizuo’s lips.

“Still can’t fucking believe that you were a virgin,” Shizuo shook his head, and for the first time in his life took a drag off a cigarette that was held by someone else. It was a little awkward, the angle tilted upwards a little too much, but Izaya’s slender fingers looked good around the stick. His head on the pillow and the nag of the addiction soothed, Shizuo tiredly thought that he could get used to this — a hushed, drained Izaya feeding him cigarettes. He puffed smoke away from Izaya’s face, because for once he didn’t want to see him cough or squeeze his eyes shut.

“What can I say,” Izaya shrugged, not in the least bit embarrassed about it. “Maybe I was waiting for _the_ _right one_.”

“Tsch,” Shizuo scoffed. “Right.”

“So,” Izaya began, straddling him. His nakedness pressed against Shizuo’s stomach, the feeling raw and intimate. “You want to know about Yagiri’s kidnapped?”

“Fuck off,” Shizuo grumbled. “I didn’t do this shit for information.”

“Oh? You don’t want to know about my part in it?”

Shizuo hesitated. He did want to know, but for a different reason than originally. Right there and then, he wanted to forget that Izaya had no moral brakes.

“Just shut up for now,” he asked, wishing that Izaya would listen to him. He was prepared to stuff a fist in Izaya’s mouth to make him stop talking, but as usual, Izaya correctly sensed when it was the right time to drop a subject. He leaned in to press a fleeting kiss to Shizuo’s forehead, feeding him the cigarette right after.

 

!

 

In the morning, he woke up to Izaya’s pointy hipbones and a leg thrown over him like he belonged under it.

Shizuo didn’t move to break the embrace, staring at the window where raindrops were trailing down the fogged glass. He tried to recall the last time he woke up in bed with someone else.

Izaya’s breathing was light, small wafts of air over Shizuo’s chest. It filled him with a strange sense of fulfillment to see Izaya sleep on top of him. He had stopped trying to get his head around the update to his apparent sexual preference, but there was not an ounce of denial in him that he was comfortable like that. He brushed his thumb along the soft skin of Izaya’s thighs, wondering if Izaya would snap at him when he woke up; he was especially irritable in the morning. In the days that they had lived together Shizuo learned that Izaya loved sleeping. He didn’t sleep much, not much at all, but when he did, he slept like a baby and waking up was a slow and painful process for him.

Shizuo’s last time was longer than a year ago, a one-night-stand that he cared so little about that he couldn’t even remember the person in question. To date, that was Shizuo’s “love-life” in a nutshell: a series of rushed, numbed one-night-stands when he was drunk enough not to turn down a woman’s advances. Women loved him, for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom. Every time he headed down to a bar with co-workers, women would be all over him, much to his confusion and his colleagues’ envy. Vorona once off-handedly commented that it had to do with Shizuo’s traditionally handsome face, and the rare combination of his raw strength and the tenderness of his character. Shizuo was inclined to believe Vorona on anything she talked about, but he still doubted whether that particular explanation was true; he didn’t think his character was “tender.” Himself, he had no real answer. Nine times out of ten he would politely decline, but every once in a while he would feel lonely enough to succumb into the irrationality of the moment. He had never felt more hollow than he did the mornings after, waking up next to a person he hadn’t known anything about, always regretting it.

That morning, he couldn’t bring himself regret anything, no matter how much he tried to. He had engaged in something intimate with the person he disliked the most, yet in those moments when Izaya was breathing evenly into his chest, Shizuo felt peaceful, none of the usual bitterness or hatred that filled him whenever he set eyes on the man.

He felt that he _should_ regret something, because a page was turned, things had shifted, and certain questions had to be asked. With one-night-stands, he could always run away because the other person was a complete stranger, but Izaya wasn’t a stranger. Shizuo had known him for so long, he didn’t remember life before Izaya, mainly because Izaya made his life a living hell and gave him so many unpleasant memories that they crowded out much of everything else. Izaya was amoral, at times cruel and despicable, but he was also fragile and lonely, and Shizuo related to him in ways that he hadn’t connected with other people. Some of it had to do with the fact that Shizuo continually avoided forming meaningful connections with people. A part of him longed for a normal life, a normal relationship, a family with eventual children, but another part of him knew that those things weren’t feasible for a man like him. Too much of his being was tied to Izaya, and the informant was so far from normal, he automatically dragged Shizuo further down, and Shizuo was already struggling to maintain the facade of being a functional member of the society.

For the next hour, he lay awake, musing over what happened. With an inward chuckle, Shizuo realized that there was one thing he regretted from last night — he wished he had actually fucked Izaya. He never got the chance to see what kind of faces Izaya would make under that kind of duress, and something told him Izaya would probably never let him be this close again.

When Izaya finally woke up, he soundlessly stretched, tired red eyes locking onto Shizuo’s. The serenity of the morning dissipated, the air charging up with confusion and fear and what-now questions. Shizuo silently left the bed going for a much-needed shower, his body sticky with sweat and other things, and Izaya smirked at his discomfort. He retreated into his own bedroom, strolling naked across the room as if he regularly did that in front of Shizuo.

Shizuo tried not to stare, because he still hadn’t quite come to terms with his newfound attraction.

They regrouped for morning tea. Izaya sat by the counter, cringing a little when he took a sip because the liquid was too hot against his abused lip. He had showered, too, his hair wet and scattered, and Shizuo remembered the first time they sat by this counter around three weeks ago. The differences between now and then were astounding; there was a lot less of that burning hatred that used to fill him.

Shizuo cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about—”

“Last night?” Izaya smiled. “Don’t tell me you feel responsible for me now. Having _defiled_ me and all that,” Izaya stressed the word Shizuo dreaded the most.

“No,” he choked on the answer. “I didn’t actually do—well, maybe. Fuck, I don’t know. It’s just really fucked up. What happened was—”

“Don’t worry, you silly monster. I don’t have any expectations,” Izaya said with a smile that was a little too bitter.

“So it was a one-time thing then?”

“Oh, would you like a repeat?”

“No,” Shizuo said quickly, but nodded. He cut the nod short and violently shook his head.

“So is that a yes or a no?” Izaya laughed.

“I’m not sure,” Shizuo answered honestly. “Would _you_ like a, uh, repeat?”

“Maybe,” Izaya winked.

Shizuo couldn’t press the matter further, because the topic of the conversation unsettled him to a point that he wanted to forget anything happened.

“Anyway,” he rushed to say, opting for a change of subject, “Tom wants me and Vorona to check Yagiri’s clinic today.”

“Shouldn’t you go find the body first?” Izaya asked, leaning over the counter to pour extra sugar into Shizuo’s cup. Over the last week he calculated the precise amount of sweetness that Shizuo liked in his morning tea, and Shizuo silently let him take care of it, without focusing too much on the fact that Izaya was catering to his needs. He vaguely wondered if Izaya’s shameless attraction to him was the reason for why he had been less of an insufferable dick lately.

“I can do that right after,” Shizuo shrugged. The body wasn’t going anywhere, buried deep in one of the parks on the outskirts of Tokyo Metropolitan area. “It’s kind of urgent that we check on Yagiri; they probably know we have Adabashi by now.”

“Ah, you’re so adorable when you’re this naive.”

“ _What_?” Shizuo slammed his cup down, the liquid splashing. “Don’t fucking call me adorable. And how am I naive?”

Izaya shrugged, suddenly growing dismal. The smile disappeared from his lips, and Shizuo observed the rare shape of an actual, serious frown on the man’s face. His eyes were sharp, too, as if he was thinking about something deeply unpleasant.

“You alright?” Shizuo asked against better judgment.

“Yeah,” Izaya said and found the smile again. “You’re so insensitive,” he pursed his lips, waving his hand in disappointment. “I thought we’d talk more about what happened, but here you are, going on about work.”

“Shut up. I don’t fucking know what to say.”

He fumed in silence, finishing his tea. He _wished_ his work took priority, but Izaya’s words reminded him of something that had been on his mind recently, despite his best efforts to kill the idea.

“Izaya,” Shizuo said the name calmly, tasting the way the word rolled off his tongue when he wasn’t spitting it with disgust. “Have you ever thought about seeing a psychiatrist, or, I don’t know, taking some medication?”

“Rude, Shizu-chan,” Izaya shook his head. “I take great offense at that, actually. I assure you that my mental health is in great shape.”

“I see.”

Shizuo supposed it was idiotic of him to hope that Izaya could be the way he was due to an external factor.

A fixable factor.

 

!

 

The bust on Yagiri Pharmaceuticals was a complete failure, as far as Shizuo was concerned.

They had checked the basements, the neighboring warehouses, both wings, but all they found were rooms of mysterious equipment and countless boxes of unlabelled medicine. The clinic was deserted, all personnel gone and not a single soul in the many rooms that they marched through. Yagiri must have caught wind of their plans to search the facility, cleaning out everything before anything incriminating would be found on the perimeter.

Vorona squatted by one of the bigger machines, trying to make sense of the strange symbols carved on the metal. It looked like a serial number to Shizuo, but the symbols made no sense.

“Do you recognize that alphabet?” Shizuo asked.

“No,” Vorona said, contrary to his expectations. “I have never seen anything like this.”

“Huh.”

It was rare that Vorona didn’t know something.

They went through the next couple of rooms, finding similar equipment. It vaguely reminded Shizuo of MRI machines, though he had never seen one in real life, but Vorona seemed confident that it wasn’t anything that was manufactured legally.

He and Vorona were finishing up the search of the left wing, while the rest of the squad covered the right, when Shizuo suddenly realized that Izaya was nowhere to be found. Shizuo tended to focus on his job, always mentally going through a checklist of things he was supposed to do in a given scenario, and that kind of concentration allowed Izaya to slip away from him.

Shizuo cursed, looking around. They had gone through so many rooms, god knew where Izaya had run off to.

“Fucking flea is missing,” he muttered, and Vorona looked at him with curiosity.

“Last I saw him, he was heading to the next floor,” she reported. “We have checked the rooms on all floors, and they are all empty without exception. Senpai needn't worry about him.”

Still, Shizuo had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong. His instincts rarely lied to him, and he felt the need to find Izaya as soon as possible.

“I’m gonna go look for him,” Shizuo said to her. “Not much we can do here but confiscate the medicine anyway. Send it off to the forensics lab for analysis.”

Vorona nodded. “Senpai, are you alright? You are different this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem at peace,” Vorona said, scrutinizing him from head to feet. “Your patience with Izaya Orihara was outstanding today, too. Are you on better terms with him now?”

Shizuo startled, realizing that she was right. He did have a more-or-less friendly conversation with Izaya on the way here. Things had changed for him, but there was no way he was confessing to having sexual attraction to Izaya, not even to Vorona. No, Shizuo was prepared to take what happened to the grave. Earlier that morning, he had flipped through the pictures he snapped last night, the phone mercilessly providing him with the proof that all of those things that haunted his mind did happen. His heart treacherously skipped a beat when he saw the picture where Izaya’s face was covered with his sperm, and he quickly turned his phone off before he got aroused. He didn’t need yet another reminder that his attraction to Izaya was a real thing.

He didn’t answer Vorona’s question, and she didn’t press it. She nodded again when Shizuo headed to the stairs, acknowledging whatever it was she derived from the interaction. Shizuo could only hope it wasn’t close to the truth.

The above floors were empty, all but the fifth. Once Shizuo saw the tall, heavy doors of Namie Yagiri’s office, he realized where Izaya had been. He walked over to them, leaning his ear against the dark shiny wood. Of course, he couldn’t hear anything.

There had been many a time when he instinctively knew where Izaya was, and what he had been up to. Shinra often called it a sixth sense of Shizuo’s, a special ability, and Shizuo had always refused to think of it that way. Why would he have something special about himself that related to Izaya? He would deny it, because he was too stubborn to admit it. But when it happened, there was no mistaking it. He knew that Izaya was inside, and up to no good. Shizuo couldn’t fathom what it could be, because the office was one of the first things they had checked when they arrived here. There was nothing left in the room apart from furniture.

With a sigh, he kicked the door open and squinted from the blinding light that came from the room. The hallway behind him was drowning in darkness, but Namie Yagiri’s office had the luxury of ceiling-tall windows, generously illuminating the room. Before his eyes adjusted to the contrast, Shizuo took a few steps in, trying to find the slippery man that kept escaping from him.

Something hot and wet trailed down his ankles. It felt like blazing tongues of fire were licking away at his feet, and Shizuo stumbled, his legs giving under him. He fell onto his back with a hard thump, the cold wooden floor hitting the back of his head. He realized belatedly that his ankles must have been slashed at the tendons, and that was why he couldn’t stand right anymore. The pain was supposed to be unbearable, but his mind blocked it, lost in a fit of rage that came with being caught off-guard.

He desperately tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t listen. A shadow lurked to his right, filling him up with dread. For the first time in his life, Shizuo tried to reach for his gun, but his arms barely moved, feeling like hot balloons. It reminded him of his nightmares, except the sensations were so much more real and overwhelming, and panic shot down his spine.

Something bounced on top of him, and a few heavy-lidded blinks later, he recognized Izaya’s blurry silhouette. Shizuo squinted, trying to focus in on him, but the frame was doubled, even tripled, and the light behind Izaya was just so blindingly white, Shizuo’s eyes welled up with tears.

“ _Take it easy, yeah_?” Izaya’s voice lulled somewhere far in the distance, yet he was close enough to be stroking his cheek. “ _The dose was enough to take down an elephant. If you relax a little, you might just enjoy the trip._ ”

“Y-You.. Drug…” Shizuo tried to utter, but his tongue was numb, tied and twisted, incapable of producing a coherent sentence.

Millions of amber dust specks danced around Izaya’s face, but his red eyes glowed the brightest. Some part of Shizuo’s brain registered the sharp, burning pain at his ankles, and the calves from the snapped tendons, but the majority of his being was washed over by the drug-induced ocean of bliss, cold and comforting.

“W-Why…” he mumbled again, trying to grab at Izaya’s anything. Izaya was sitting right there, right on top of him, like a little kid on top of an animal in a merry-go-round. Shizuo could finally make out the lines of a brilliant white smile on the face, and his body shuddered under the weight when Izaya bounced up and down in excitement.

“ _Whyyy whaaat?_ ” Izaya sang.

Shizuo didn’t know if Izaya prolonged the sound, or if his brain dragged it out.

“T-This…”

“ _Well, you didn’t take long enough downstairs. Namie’s toys weren’t very interesting, hmm?_ ” Izaya said, playing with a strand of Shizuo’s hair. Shizuo lay limp and lifeless, focusing all of his remaining consciousness on keeping his eyes open. “ _I didn’t want to do this. Of course, you wouldn’t believe me if I said that. Can you even hear me? Probably not. But yeah, I didn’t want to do this. Sure, it’s fun when you’re so adorably helpless, but we did almost fuck last night, and even I’m not so cold-hearted that I would enjoy betraying you like this the morning after._ ”

Izaya giggled, bouncing up and down again. “ _Ah, who am I kidding. I’m actually having a lot of fun right now. And since you can’t really hear me, I might as well come out and say this right now. I love you, Shizu-chan. I really do. For years I believed that you were the only person on Earth that I hated, but I was engaged in the world’s longest bout of denial. Believe me, if they gave out awards for denial, I’d be the winner every year until the last few. I love you so, so much, Shizuo. I love you more than the rest of my humans. It hurts me to admit this because I don’t want to play favorites, but I can’t deny it. Especially not after last night. Remember how I said that Shinra was my only Achilles’ heel? Well, that was a lie!_ ” 

Izaya’s shrilling laugh filled the air, piercing through Shizuo’s head to birth a skull-splitting migraine. “ _I have two of them. You would be the second one if you weren’t so wonderfully indestructible. Well, except for when you face me._ ”

His left ankle burned hot under the touch of steel. To his panic, Shizuo realized that Izaya was dragging a knife across the cut, and fear spilled through his veins, cold and gripping. He wouldn’t put it past Izaya to cut off his foot, but no matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t lift a finger, let alone an arm.

“ _That’s why I sliced your Achilles tendons, Shizu-chan. Of course, you falling down made administering the drug that much easier, but I also felt like it’d be a nice homage to the fact that I am your Achilles heel, too. A good measure of symbolism in our lives never hurts, you know. You probably can’t understand what I’m saying right now, but maybe, and this is just me hoping, maybe when you wake up and think about your injuries, you’ll realize the reason why I cut you where I did. These cuts will certainly turn into a pair of beautiful scars when they heal up. I have always loved branding you as mine, and that's another exception to my rules. I’m not supposed to own anything in this world, yet I want you to belong to me._ ”

There was a pause that would be filled with silence, but Shizuo’s mind was burning with noise, a cacophony of swirling sounds and buzzing.

Izaya’s melodious voice continued to echo in the distance. “ _..Because just like you are my weakness, I am yours. Look at how easily you got ambushed, Shizu-chan. Tsk, tsk, tsk… It was quite pathetic. I honestly expected a bit of a fight. I could almost taste the nostalgia of the old times on my tongue, but for better or for worse, you knew that I was here. You walked in, trusting me. How could you, Shizu-chan?_ ”

Shizuo felt sick, nausea coming over him like a heat wave, and he couldn’t hold it in. He struggled to sit up so he could properly evacuate his insides, genuinely scared to choke on whatever would come out, but that was a lost cause — there was no way he could lift himself up. Izaya must have understood his struggles, because the weight on top of him withdrew, and Shizuo felt arms propping him up from behind, foreign hands gently brushing hair from his face.

Sitting up-right, Shizuo felt a little less disoriented, though the world was still spinning in wild swirling circles. He aimed a punch at where he thought Izaya was, but he hit nothing but air, and the lack of a target sent him off-balance. The strain of the movement brought another wave of nausea over him, and he retched, violent spasms running through his body. Izaya re-assumed his place behind him, a cool hand over Shizuo's forehead that was dripping with sweat.

“ _Breathe, Shizu-chan… There you go, good boy,_ ” Izaya hugged him closer. “ _Oh, and before I forget. You can keep the pictures. I almost erased them after you fell asleep, but then I thought, what the hell, it seems like a fitting goodbye present. You’re so naughty for having taken them. I had fun last night, by the way, though I am a little sad you decided against fucking me. I wonder if it means that you’ll never finish the job? You’ll probably be more than just a little upset when you figure out what actually went down in Ikebukuro in the last month or so._ ”

There was a sound of a loud banging against the door that split Shizuo’s skull into little bits and pieces, penetrating the very fabric of his sanity, and he felt Izaya’s arms leave him. He collapsed back on the floor, thinking that he must have really gone insane, because he didn’t want anyone to come in, and worst of all, he didn’t want Izaya to go.

“ _Well, that’s my cue to leave. Don’t get too mad at me, Shizu-chan. Maybe in a year or two when you cool off, we could play detective again. It was hella fun this time around. Bye-bye!_ ”

The world went black, the last image in his mind being that of a dancing smile.


	7. Your Least Favorite Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title refers to the song "My Least Favorite Life" by Lera Lynn (the pronoun changed because all chapter titles are from Izaya's POV).

_Two months later_

 

There were times in Shizuo’s life when everything fell apart and there was little hope of gluing it back together.

These days were usually marked by the perpetual lack of skin on his knuckles and the residual pain in his jaw from how often he clenched it too tight. But whatever damage he had done to his teeth was nothing compared to the amount of ordeal the man trembling in front of him had been through. By then, he had lost quite a few teeth from Shizuo’s fists, some of them riding up to drive further into the bleeding gums, others falling out. An ex-felon that was the main suspect in yet another murder, he was cuffed to the metal table of the interrogation room, and Shizuo had just snapped out of his rage, having reduced the man’s face into a bloody mess.

“Fuck, man,” the man cried, slurring through the spit, blood and snot that were mixing in his mouth. “I-I already fessed up to killing that fag! The fuck else you want from me?! Just throw me in jail already!”

The door screeched open, and Vorona peeked in. “Shizuo-senpai.”

Shizuo flinched, the presence of his dear friend hitting him like a splash of ice-cold water.

“The lieutenant wants to see you.”

The man looked at Vorona, hoping that she would say something, anything, on the nature of the atrocity that was going down, but beatings weren’t unusual in the interrogation room, usually reserved for the true scum that police men couldn’t help but put back in their place.

Vorona didn’t even acknowledge the man’s presence, promptly closing the door behind herself.

Shizuo slammed his fists onto the metal desk, and the man jumped up in his seat, squealing. “I’ll be back,” Shizuo promised.

Vorona might have said nothing, but she never participated in events like that. Shizuo hadn’t in a while, either, until two months ago he faced betrayal he didn’t even think was possible. How could he feel betrayed when he should have seen it coming? He was looking for it the whole time, yet it sneaked up to him from the one angle he didn’t think was possible.

He went to the bathroom first, a little unstable on his feet and nauseous from the stench of blood that filled his nostrils. He had to wipe his hands before he went to see Tom. The last two months had been hell for him, a slow downward spiral back into the old habits where the mere sight of criminals made him see red. Violence was reestablished into the routine of his life, but he was desperate to hide that fact from Tom, at least for as long as he could. He cleaned his hands and mentally laughed at his pathetic state. As if he could hide who he really was with just cleaning. His bleeding knuckles that never got the chance to heal reflected the entire picture in as brutal a way as possible.

Taking a deep breath and adjusting his suit, looking over it one last time for visible drops of blood, he knocked on Tom’s door.

He was greeted with a look that wasn’t nearly as stern as he expected. In fact, there was a strange tint of sadness in Tom’s eyes, and Shizuo felt small sitting in the chair, hoping, no, praying that Tom wasn’t pitying him.

“I know I’ve been pretty bad,” Shizuo started, distressed by the heavy silence. “I—uh, I— I’ll be okay soon. I think.”

“This isn’t you,” Tom said the words that hurt him the most, because it was him. Hell, sometimes he wondered if this was the _real_ him.

“It’s me,” Shizuo said, swallowing the sharp lump in his throat. Speaking was a strain these days. He rarely talked anymore, to anyone.

“I can’t help you, Shizuo.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Shizuo snapped, then hurried to add, “sir.” He couldn’t forget who he was talking to.

Tom sighed. “Starting now you’re suspended for a month, Shizuo. You’re to surrender your badge and your gun on the way out.”

“ _What_?” Shizuo’s heart disappeared in his chest. “Tom-san, you can’t do this to me. I _need_ my job.”

“I wish I could help you,” Tom said. “But these are orders from above the chain of command. They were never happy with me taking you out of narcotics in the first place. Now that you’re demonstrating the same pattern of violence, they don’t see the reason for why you’re here. Take this month, Shizuo, and _get better_. This is an order from your superior.”

Whatever protest he might have mustered, the words died in his throat. He couldn’t stop working. He would self-destruct even harder if he had more free time. But Tom’s words were uttered in the tone that the older man had rarely exercised; it forced Shizuo to lower his head in a resigned nod, and he stumbled out of the room, wondering if things could get any worse from now on.

 

!

 

He wandered aimlessly around Ikebukuro, eyes taking in the sights around him but his brain failing to register that life existed.

Without his job, Shizuo was left with nothing. He counted the days to when his suspension would be over, and life was a blur of cigarette butts and beer cans. With each day he felt more and more hollow, as if emotions were surging out of him, leaving him empty, vacant. He doubled his smoking amount and often forgot to eat properly. With no job, friends or family, he spent days not uttering a single word to anyone. Kasuka was overseas filming a commercial, though Shizuo would never reach out to him when he was at his lowest. As for Vorona, he distanced himself from her because he couldn’t bear to see her disappointed. That hadn’t happened before, but Shizuo wasn’t eager to set a precedent.

There was more drinking in his life. He never got drunk like people usually did, but booze took the edge off, and that was a much needed alleviant. It wouldn’t help him tame his anger again, but at least he wouldn’t be arrested for beating up innocent citizens, worsening his already dire circumstances.

Shizuo searched for him everywhere. It was automatic, some layer of his subconscious always on the lookout for the familiar flutter of a black furcoat. When he finally realized that he was looking for Izaya in the crowd, he wanted to hit himself, hopefully to knock himself out, but Shizuo had never been good at running away. He wanted to stand face-to-face with the problem so he could aim a better attack, preferring the straightforward approach. He continued searching, now fully aware of his desire to find Izaya.

Of course, he had checked for him at the apartment the moment he could walk after that day at Yagiri’s Pharmaceuticals. The apartment was empty, hollowed out of all furniture, aside from the lonely umbrella lying in the middle of the living room. His footsteps echoed through the emptied rooms, and even without the furniture to orient himself, Shizuo could tell the exact spot on the floor where he kissed Izaya for the first time.

He split the umbrella into two and threw it away, like he should have done the first time Izaya gave it to him.

This continuous search marked the first time that Shizuo went _looking_ for Izaya, because in the past, the informant had always found him first. Izaya would taunt him, provoke him into a stupid game, throw him a bone, and Shizuo would follow like an idiot, but every time Izaya was still the one who made the first move. Though slashed tendons could technically count for a first move, Shizuo grimly supposed. He healed the damage within four days, the time spent in agony because morphine wasn’t nearly as strong as whatever drug Izaya injected in him at the time. The callous scars now branded the back of his ankles, but Shizuo didn’t really care about that — very few people saw his feet, anyway. What hurt him the most were the broken memories of that day. He refused to think back on what Izaya said, because he established that thinking about it was a guaranteed trigger to push him over the edge of a cliff into the pit of rage.

Some seventeen days before his suspension was over, Shizuo thought he had finally found him. He saw the coat and the dark hair, even though he was three blocks away. His roar was a tremor shaking through the air, causing people around him to scatter. Shizuo ran forward, and the fact that Izaya didn’t even turn to look at him after he yelled _Izaya_ only enraged him further.

He never hit people from behind, but he made an exception for that time, his fist finding Izaya’s back somewhere at the kidneys. The small man cried and immediately dropped to his knees, and Shizuo stared at him, shocked that Izaya didn’t dodge, and then his mind registered the color of the hair that was lighter than the slick black of Izaya’s locks, and he saw just how ugly the man was compared to Izaya. “What the fuck did I do to you?” the man shrieked.

Shizuo took a step back, chokes of laughter in his throat. Life was playing a cruel joke on him. The man was wearing the identical furcoat, yet he was nothing like Izaya.

“Why the fuck are you wearing _that_?” Shizuo asked. He forced the cowering man out of the coat, throwing it against the ground, dust and gravel kicking up into the air from the impact.

“What the fuck is your problem!?” the man looked at him like he was crazy. There was recognition in the man’s eyes; he clearly knew who Shizuo was, but Shizuo’s actions were so erratic that he mustered the bravery to talk back at the beast of Ikebukuro.

“Just _stop_ wearing that,” Shizuo said, then felt a little more sober. A crowd was gathering around the two of them, judging Shizuo in low murmurs. There were tears in the man’s eyes, after all, and Shizuo did technically hit an innocent guy. “Sorry for hitting you,” he coughed out. “Thought you were someone else.”

“You punched me, and then you ruined my coat!” the man whined. Shizuo’s punch was vicious, so he was still curled up on the ground, not even trying to get up.

“You wanna grab a beer or something?” Shizuo asked, feeling guilty. “Buy you a drink.”

“I-I think I might be dying! I need to go to the hospital!” the man said dramatically, but his eyes lit up, the idea of a free drink tempting enough to make him reconsider his options.

“Don’t be a fucking baby,” Shizuo huffed and forced the man on his feet. “What’s your name?”

“N-Nakura,” Nakura teetered on his feet, hand over the place where Shizuo hit him. “And you must be that blond freak people talk about.”

“It’s Shizuo Heiwajima. Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Shizuo urged and hustled him towards the nearby bar before people called the police on him.

Nakura was a piece of shit, as Shizuo learned a bit later. He didn’t feel bad about punching him anymore because the man was a sexist pig. A woman approached Shizuo shortly after they entered the establishment, but Shizuo shrugged her off, less polite than usual, because he had no patience for things these days. The woman then had the audacity to ask for a drink anyway, and Shizuo looked at her like she was crazy and she finally took the hint to leave him alone. Right after she left, Nakura began mouthing off about how both hot and disgusting that woman was, and how he would love to “hate-fuck the shit out of her.”

Shizuo counted to three, his nerves stretched and trembling. He really wanted to beat the guy up.

“You keep that shit to yourself,” Shizuo finally said. “Or I’ll sock you again.”

Nakura almost swallowed his tongue, fear welling up in his eyes. “S-Sorry, man, I thought you didn’t like her either.”

“I was indifferent,” Shizuo said. “Doesn’t mean she deserved you saying all those things.”

Nakura furiously nodded. “I was wrong!” He took a gulp from his mug, savoring the taste. “This beer’s good, man. I wonder if I only have one functional kidney now though.”

“You’re fine.”

“So… how come you turn that hottie down?” Nakura asked cautiously.

“Not interested.”

“Got someone else in mind then?”

Shizuo glared at him, annoyed by the nosiness. They were meant to drink in silence, and once the beer was done, he was supposed to go on his way. But talking didn’t seem like the worst thing right about then, especially since he hadn’t talked to anyone in days.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “There’s someone.”

“She ever get scared of you? I mean, you’re one scary motherfucker. Your reputation around town,” Nakura whistled, his demeanor relaxing.

“No,” Shizuo said simply. “He’s never scared of me.”

Nakura choked on his drink, spluttering. Shizuo was irked by the reaction, but he could somewhat understand where it came from. A lot of people would probably be shocked to put Shizuo Heiwajima and gay together in one sentence. Not that Shizuo thought himself as fully gay or anything. He didn’t know what to think anymore, and frankly questions about orientation didn’t matter enough to him that he would dwell on them. Aside from Izaya, he had never met another man that he was attracted to, and he was still definitely interested in women.

“Wow,” Nakura could only say, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “You forgive me for that response, yeah? It’s a bit of a shocker.”

“Do I look like someone who gives a shit?” Shizuo said, shrugging.

“So all’s good with your boy?”

“He’s not my fucking boy,” Shizuo snapped. “What do you fucking care?”

“I dunno, man. Just chit-chatting, geez. We’re sharing a beer, are’t we?”

“Nothing’s good,” Shizuo muttered. “I’ll kill him when I see him next.”

“That bad?” Nakura said, clearly thinking that Shizuo was exaggerating when he wasn’t. “He cheat on you?”

“No.”

“What’d he do then?”

Shizuo sighed, putting his glass aside. He had enough of this ridiculous conversation.

“Lies on top of lies on top of lies,” he said, mostly to himself as he left the bar before his temper flared up again and Nakura ended up with more than just a bruised kidney.

 

!

 

Shizuo resigned himself to accept that he would never find Izaya again, at least not until the informant wanted to be found, and he stopped wandering the streets of Ikebukuro and Shinjuku.

Stranded in his apartment, he spent most of the days lying on his mattress, tangled in-between crumpled sheets. Most people would call that depression, but Shizuo wasn’t sure if that applied to him. His mind was mostly just numb with anger, stray thoughts returning back to the things he didn’t want to think about.

His memories of that day were chaotic, broken episodes and muffled words, but with time, Shizuo was able to put the pieces together, and they joined to create a picture that needed to be destroyed again. He didn’t need to know shit like that. Like Izaya claiming that he loved Shizuo. Or that Shizuo was his weakness, and that Izaya was Shizuo’s weakness. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? What possible meaning could those words have, if Izaya debilitated him and took off without saying another word?

With an unhealthy amount of self-loathing, Shizuo hated himself for feeling certain things, and for letting Izaya break him like that. Izaya had always been an expert at destroying Shizuo’s humanity, but ever since Shizuo graduated the academy, he really thought that he had grown immune to the diseases Izaya tried to infect him with. His record had been so straight, and yet all it took to break him apart was one awkward night of intimacy that should have never happened.

Gradually, he allowed himself to admit that the pain came solely from that crushing feeling of betrayal. It wasn’t that Izaya lied to him, or that he cut Shizuo down, or anything specific like that. All those things in a vacuum, Shizuo was completely fine with them. Izaya’s language was always laced with lies, and that alone held no power over Shizuo.

What ultimately crushed him was the heart-wrenching realization that Izaya went down the road of intimacy precisely for the purpose of finding a new way to break him. When Shizuo thought back on the time they spent together, it made perfect sense that Izaya would do something like that. No other reason could explain why Izaya had been so obedient, so conforming, even _nice_ and playful. He _humored_ Shizuo, playing on his desire to think better of Izaya, to find something redeeming about him, to cling to some shred of humanity within him. The bastard also knew that Shizuo wanted control over him, and he provided it, in attitude, small gestures and carefully woven submission. Once Shizuo’s defenses broke down, Izaya jumped on the first opportunity to drive a knife into him, both literally and figuratively, and right about now he was probably laughing somewhere in some beautifully furnished apartment, relishing in yet another victory over the monster.

He hadn’t dared to look at the pictures, until one drunken night when his pain was numbed, and he was horny enough to use them to jerk himself off. Afterwards, he waited for his heart to sting even more, but for some reason, the pictures provided unexpected relief to his mental state. He flicked through them, back and forth, analyzing every little detail. There was a growing certainty in him that Izaya’s expressions were honest in those captured moments. The expressions of lust when he was going on down on Shizuo, the pleased look of fulfillment when he was covered in Shizuo’s sperm and the open, yet broken smile that was alike no other that Shizuo had seen on the man in the picture where Izaya signed peace.

Just how good of an actor was Izaya? Shizuo didn’t know, and he found it hard to cling to that hope, until he remembered the plethora of unread messages from Izaya that was stored on his phone.

Shizuo couldn’t really remember what prompted Izaya to start sending him messages. It began a few years ago, and the messages were more derisive and snide at the time. Shizuo quickly found a setting on his phone that would auto-mark those messages as read on arrival, essentially burying them before he could even glance at them. He couldn’t exactly block Izaya, because he was always scared that there would come a day where Izaya would decide to call him before he did something crazy, and Shizuo wouldn’t respond to a chance to save some innocent people from getting hurt. It was an irrational fear, though considering their twisted history, one had to admit there was some merit in that line of thinking.

His phone kept history of all the messages he had received, though, so he scrolled up until a year ago and started reading. The more Shizuo read, the more his chest constricted, because they read like nothing he had ever heard from Izaya before.

 

 

 **Thu Nov 13 2014, 7:03 AM**  
_Do you have nightmares, Shizu-chan? Well, everybody does. You probably dread being ostracized by the society or something equally idiotic as that. I had one last night, and its content made even less sense than that pathetic fear of yours. Dreams are a real nuisance, because they pollute the mind, filling us up with unnecessary information. Like the nightmares that we had as children that we remember long into our adult years? That’s an undeniable waste of space, no matter how you look at it._

 **Fri Nov 21 2014, 9:25 PM**  
_I wonder what kind of curses you would throw at me if I told you that I have two tickets to an MMA tournament where your favorite fighter will perform. Oh, what am I thinking. You never read these messages anyway, or you would have already come to snap my neck for some of the things I sent before._

 **Wed Nov 25 2014, 5:34 PM**  
_I miss you. We haven’t worked together in a while. Have criminals in this town lost all semblance of creativity? They should work harder so you need my help again._

 **Tue Dec 23 2014, 4:14 PM**  
_I’d make a great criminal. I could put together cases that you wouldn’t dream of unraveling on your own. You should call me sometime, to prevent that from happening. Boredom puts me in a dangerous mood._

 **Wed Jan 28 2015, 01:24 AM**  
_Happy birthday, Shizu-chan_.

 **Thu Jan 29 2015, 9:40 AM**  
_Did you enjoy your night with that little bird from the bar? Your choice of company leaves much to be desired, though I can’t say that I’m surprised._

 **Tue Feb 10 2015, 4:33 AM**  
_Shinra told me I should stop messaging you. But it doesn’t matter that I do or don’t, because these messages don’t really exist in any plane or dimension. Unheard voices get lost in the wind._

 **Sat March 21 2015, 2:55 PM**  
_I am a little exhausted these days. Sometimes I actually do wonder if my lifestyle is reflecting negatively on my body. But each day I weigh myself to see the same numbers, and my mind is as crisp as ever, except for these fleeting moments when I think about you. Or the lack of you in my life. Three years ago I would swallow a knife before I could admit that, but there can be a strange feeling of freedom in you when you know that no one can hear you. It’s maddeningly liberating, but the flip coin is, it’s soul-crushingly lonely. At least when I talk in my apartment there is a small echo of my own voice bouncing off the walls. Here, there is nothing. Nothing at all._

 

 

The messages ended there, because Shizuo changed his number towards the end of March, and it always took Izaya at least a few months to figure that out since Shizuo never responded.

Shizuo wondered how many more messages he had missed, wishing that he had never changed the number.

Was it too far-fetched to hope that at least some of it was real? Could lies span years ahead in preparation? With Izaya, the answer was _‘of course, they could’_ , but these messages granted Shizuo the much needed illusion to believe that _some_ of the Izaya he had seen two months ago was genuine. If at least some shreds of Izaya’s feelings for him were real, then Shizuo could feel less of that annoying betrayal that he really didn’t want to deal with.

If only for the sake of his own sanity, Shizuo forced himself to believe that and little by little, he began healing the real wounds he had received at Yagiri Pharmaceuticals. Be it self-delusion or not, it served as the right type of medicine to let him get his life back on track.

 

!

 

His suspension finally over, Shizuo couldn’t wait to get back to work.

Tom’s hands were tied when the brass ordered him to cut Shizuo loose for a month, but idling had been the worst. He came back to work with a rejuvenated sense of responsibility, determined to never have to put Tom in trouble again. He felt like a selfish brat, and he planned on making it up to Tom by upping his clearance rate a little for better stats in the department.

Things were going well. He cleared two murders right off the bat, a typical case of a crime of passion where a husband struck down a cheating wife and an accidental manslaughter in a bar fight. Those were always the easiest to solve, because the guilty parties never really resisted arrest when all the evidence was there. A lot of them even regretted it, confessing on the spot.

Another body was a woman who hanged herself, but Shizuo still had to take the time to prove it was indeed a suicide. The third real murder was a little more laborsome, but after a careful investigation of the canvas, he had found enough DNA evidence to point him in the right direction. The suspect eventually fessed up, and Tom praised Shizuo on the quick work.

“You’ve been doing great,” Tom said approvingly. His smile pulled the skin around his eyes in soft wrinkles — he had aged a few years forward ever since he had taken on the stressful job of being a lieutenant. But those the were the lines of kindness that warmed Shizuo’s heart, and he felt happy to see them, happier than he had in months.

“Least I can do,” he mumbled, lighting up on the inside. “Sorry for all the trouble recently,” he added again for the umpteenth time, but Tom shook his head.

“No trouble,” Tom assured him.

Vorona was ecstatic to see him again. On his first day back, she ran around him, insisting on accompanying him wherever he went. Shizuo didn’t think the woman was capable of saying sentimental words, but her actions always spoke loud on where her heart was. They shared that in common, neither of them ever hiding their true feelings, even if they rarely worded them. He had missed her, too.

Some time later a new case rolled in, and Shizuo allowed her to be the primary on it. He always wanted to maybe slowly reverse the senpai-kouhai hierarchy between them that she so strongly adhered to, because he believed her to be better than him at pretty much everything.

Vorona took her role as a primary very seriously, promising him that she would do her best. The case was most likely a death by natural cause, but they still had to analyze the scene, consult the forensics, all the usual. 

She called him at 6:30 AM the next day, asking him to come to a certain place.

“Is it about the case?” Shizuo asked, sleepy.

Vorona was silent, an uncharacteristically long pause for someone like her. Normally, her responses were almost immediate.

“ _One could say it is about the case_ ,” she finally said, and Shizuo wondered if he really did hear hesitancy in her voice.

“Be there in 15,” Shizuo said and jumped up from the mattress. He looked around the room, a little unsettled by the growing pile of clothes. Laundry had to be done soon.

When he left the cab that he took to get to the neighborhood, he realized that this must have been Vorona’s apartment complex. He had been here before, though he apparently forgot the address. Before he could reach the front door of the two-story apartment building, he heard someone’s whispers and turned to find Vorona’s blond hair sticking above the bushes across the road. He looked around, scanning the empty street. It was early in the morning, birds loudly chirping and the air brisk with the residual chill of the night.

She obviously wanted him to come over, so he made his way there, squeezing himself in between the branches of the bushes, the morning dew of the leaves drenching his jacket.

“Vorona,” he whispered, fitting himself to sit next to her. It was very narrow. “What are we doing?”

“We are waiting for my neighbor,” Vorona said in her usual monotone voice, as if this was something people did regularly. Hiding in bushes to observe their neighbors in the early morning.

“Can I ask why?”

“I have a strong suspicion that he’s stealing my newspapers. But I haven’t been able to catch him in the act, so each day I wake up a little earlier,” Vorona explained. “The paper-boy is going to be here any minute, and then we should wait for him to steal it.”

“Oh, okay,” Shizuo said simply, accepting that as the new state of affairs. “When did this start?”

“About a week ago. It has been a stressful week,” Vorona confessed, a slight frown on her face.

They waited in silence, and fifteen minutes later Shizuo’s knees started whining from crouching for that long. He fidgeted, throwing a nervous look at Vorona.

“When does the paper-boy usually come?” he finally asked, sticking his neck farther out to see around the corner.

“7 in the morning. He should have been here already,” Vorona said.

Finally, they heard the bells of a bicycle, and a young boy rode around, delivering papers to people’s doorsteps. This was a more residential area, different from the urban setting of Ikebukuro. The boy stopped by Vorona’s apartment building, took out a number of packages and dropped them appropriately.

Vorona’s lips curled in a small “o”, purple eyes slightly widened.

“Interesting,” she mouthed. “He didn’t deliver my newspaper.”

“Maybe your subscription ended?”

“Impossible,” Vorona shook her head. “I have to investigate this.”

She crawled out of the bushes, and Shizuo followed, his legs grateful to be stretched. He chuckled a little at how cute Vorona looked when she realized she had made a mistake in suspecting her neighbor, but he wasn’t about to voice that appreciation.

“You said it was related to our case,” he softly teased her on the way to work.

“I reasoned that if my mind is occupied with the worries about the newspaper, my performance at work is reduced,” Vorona said, not a hint of humor in her voice.

“And why’d you need me?” Shizuo asked. He didn’t mind coming over to witness this gem of Vorona’s daily life, but he was curious why the most self-sufficient person he knew required his assistance on a matter like that.

“Because senpai always tells me that I follow the law too closely. I would have liked a second opinion on how to proceed with my neighbor if I did catch him in the act of stealing.”

It all made too much sense, and Shizuo looked up at the pale blue sky above his head, breathing in the morning air.

Life wasn’t so bad, after all.

 

!

 

Yet good things never seemed to last. In particular, it seemed impossible for him to untangle his life from Izaya's.

One dreary afternoon Shizuo was drowning in bureaucratic drudgery, having to type up a depressingly large pile of reports, when he received a phone-call that flipped his healing world upside down.

“Shizuo Heiwajima, homicide,” he rattled off into the handset.

“ _Shizuo Heiwajima-san?_ ” a female voice politely inquired. “ _Please take a seat because I have bad news for you._ ”

“Huh?”

“ _Izaya Orihara was stabbed about an a hour ago and is in ICU at the moment. We—_ ”

“ _What?_ ” Shizuo choked. Vorona turned to him, worried. “Why the _fuck_ would _I_ care? Don’t call me about that piece of—”

“ _Excuse me? Would you mind your language?_ ” the woman sounded appalled. “ _You’re listed as his emergency contact, Heiwajima-san, and we have papers that confirm your legal right to make decisions on his health. We need you to come over so you could sign some forms. One of the surgeries requires a family member’s signature._ ”

“I’m _not_ his family. And he probably did that as a fucking joke! Delete my numb—”

“ _No one jokes about their emergency contacts_ ,” she interrupted him, deeply offended by his reaction. “ _What kind of a friend are you, Heiwajima-san? The man might be dying right now, and you’re throwing a fit over some signatures?! This is a life and death matter, so please take this seriously!_ ”

“You BET it’s a life-and-death matter! I will _kill_ him if I see him again, so _don’t_ tell me where your fucking hospital is if you want him to live.”

The line was silent for a while, save for the quiet buzzing of static. Shizuo’s hand trembled as he clutched onto the handset. He wished he could hang up, he didn’t need any more Izaya in his life, he gave up on that. But his hand seemed to be frozen in a cramp, and he couldn’t move, no matter how much his rational mind urged him to.

Finally, the woman spoke, voice heavy with judgment. “ _I apologize. In all my years of practice I have never talked to a man as low as you. My patient obviously trusted you to list you as his primary ICE. You are one cold individual. Can you at least refer me to a family member?_ ”

“I don’t know shit about his family,” Shizuo lied. The initial fire of his anger subsided for a moment, threads of rationality running through his thoughts. He wanted to know who could have possibly hurt Izaya when the informant was so adept at avoiding life-threatening situations. “How bad _is_ it? Who stabbed him?”

The possibility of Izaya falling to someone seemed so far-fetched that part of him wondered if this was yet another prank set-up by the little shit. The woman sounded genuine, though.

“ _He’s stable for now, and police is investigating the matter_ ,” the woman said. “ _If you change your mind, and please remember that this is urgent, please come to the Oukubo Hospital in Shinjuku. Goodbye._ ”

The line went dead, and Shizuo slammed the handset down. He stared at the phone for a few minutes longer, grasping for the last of his self-control to suppress the fit of rage that was washing over him.

He lost the battle. “Un-fucking-believable!” he roared and slammed his fist down on the desk. The wood split into two with a loud crack, and Shizuo kept ramming his fists down, ignoring the fact that he was re-opening the healed skin on his knuckles.

Vorona watched him reduce the desk into little bits and pieces with an emotionless expression, choosing to wait the rage over. Items and papers fell out of the ruined drawers, and Shizuo slapped them away so they wouldn’t get in the way. When all that was left was a pile of small disfigured wood planks, Shizuo squeezed his eyes tightly shut, rubbing at them. Anger never helped. It just made him feel worse, and the deeper he got into it, the worse he felt.

“FUCK!” he yelled one last time before he finally regained some pathetic form of composure where he could stop himself from mindlessly destroying objects. The rest of the detectives quietly whistled and hurried to clear out of the squad-room.

Vorona stood up from her chair to walk over to the cleaning closet to get a broom and a garbage bag.

“My fucking desk,” Shizuo sighed when she came back, regret filling him up. He rose from his seat to take the broom away from her. “I should get one made of metal.”

“There would be no difference,” Vorona said. “Senpai can bend metal.”

“It would hurt more,” Shizuo muttered. “Pain wakes me up.”

“Senpai,” Vorona said, watching him clean up the mess. “Your hands are bleeding. Permission to let me take care of this.”

“Like hell I would. This is my own fucking mess.”

He rarely cussed in front of Vorona, or women in general, but in that moment he forgot about everything. All he could think of was _Izaya_ , the name alone enough to set him off.

Vorona looked at him with hesitation, clearly wondering if she should ask him about the nature of the phone-call. Shizuo decided to make it easier on his partner, because he was done making his friends tiptoe around him.

“Yeah, that call was about _him_. Apparently he got himself stabbed somewhere in Shinjuku and _I’m_ his emergency contact. Fuck me!” he exhaled in frustration. “Just when I was about to start getting back on track, life decides to throw me under the bus once again. I should kill him, once and for all. Vorona, you should arrest me when that happens. When I see you, I come back to reason faster. I won’t resist the arrest.”

“I wouldn’t be able to arrest you,” Vorona said. “Our friendship takes precedence over the law.”

“You’d go against the law for me?” Shizuo asked, shocked. He knew that Vorona was incredibly loyal, but he didn’t think the extent of her devotion went above the law.

“I would,” Vorona nodded. “This should not be a surprise. No one can be perfectly aligned with the written law. We are humans with flaws, and our allegiances are not clearly defined, nor are they wired into our brains. Senpai should know this much, because you went against the law for Izaya Orihara, too. I believe you would do the same thing for me, though I doubt I would ever find myself in a situation where I required such a feat.” She said that, then paused before she added an important correction. “Unless, of course, I bent the law for senpai’s sake, but by then we would both most likely be fugitives, and you going against the law for me would no longer be relevant.”

Had it been anyone else to say that he went against the law for Izaya, Shizuo would have lost it on the fucking spot. But Vorona’s calm delivery made him realize the gravity of that truth. He did close his eyes on Izaya’s involvement with Yagiri, and it didn’t even occur to him to pursue an aggravated assault charge on Izaya for having cut Shizuo’s ankles. In fact, Izaya had done a lot of illegal things towards him, yet Shizuo had always stubbornly ignored them when they were serious.

He crushed the planks he was holding in his hands, splinters sliding deep into his palm. “What the hell is wrong with me?” he asked, laughing a little at how ridiculous he was.

“The last few months have been hard on you,” Vorona said carefully. “I think I have a reasonable solution to your problem, though I am not sure you would appreciate hearing about it. Sometimes people prefer avoiding facing the reality, and that is a valid form of existence.”

“Hit me,” Shizuo grumbled. He wasn’t fond of running away, especially not after it was pointed out as brutally as that. He sat on the floor, giving up on cleaning the mess for now.

“What senpai needs is closure. Something happened between Izaya Orihara and you, and then he disappeared without a trace. It is common for people to feel angry when parting is abrupt like that. Considering what I just outlined, I would suggest that senpai goes to the hospital, because it will resolve something, one way or another. In fact, Izaya Orihara getting stabbed is very fortuitous for senpai. He is pinned to a single location for a minimum duration of one night.”

“I would kill him,” Shizuo said quietly. “You have no idea — actually, you probably do have an idea, you’re so goddamn smart — but this is more serious than the usual.”

He had never shared with Vorona what exactly happened between him and Izaya, but he knew she could guess the details because she was the one who had found him lying on the floor, unconscious. She wanted to pursue Izaya, but Shizuo told her to drop it the moment he woke up.

“I don’t think senpai is capable of killing,” Vorona said firmly. “If you do not believe my assessment of you, you have the option to rely on statistics. The sample size is more than adequate. How many times have you lost control of your rage, beating a person up, yet never going past the line where that person ends up with permanent damage? That happened exactly zero times. It would not be a stretch to say that you possess a natural limiter that prevents you from going over that line. You are not as uncontrollable as you like to think.”

“So you think I should go,” Shizuo said. “But I don’t want to see him.”

Vorona stared at him. She blinked twice before she spoke again. “Allow me to be blunt. That was an obvious lie, senpai.”

“Fuck.”

He glanced at her again, still deeply moved by her confession. “Vorona,” he said, voice shaking because the words were hard on him. “You hold the law to an absolute. How could you still be on my side if I did kill Izaya? Murder is murder. There is never a legitimate reason to kill anyone.”

“I cannot argue with anything that you have just said,” Vorona sat down behind him, leaning her back against Shizuo’s. He was used to this arrangement; they frequently covered each other’s backs whenever they worked as a pair. “But you are the most human human I have ever met, and your moral compass is the strongest I have seen. If the world aligns itself into an order where someone like you is branded a criminal, then I would follow you.”

Shizuo heaved a sigh. “What on Earth did I do to deserve you and Tom-san?”

“Of course,” Vorona continued, matter-of-factly, “stopping you from committing a murder in the first place would be the most logical thing to do. Hypothetical scenarios can be a waste of time, Shizuo-senpai. Like I said earlier, I advise you to go to the hospital. If you wish, I will accompany you.”

“No,” Shizuo shook his head. “This is one of those things I have to do myself.”

He stayed there for a little longer, his back leaned against hers, thanking whatever gods that might exist that Vorona was there for him when he most needed it.

 

!

 

The room was dark when he entered.

The steady beat of the monitor confirmed that Izaya was alive and stable, as the nurse Shizuo had talked to informed him. Reluctantly, he signed the papers that they so desperately wanted; it was for a surgery that wasn’t particularly risky but for legal reasons they still required Shizuo’s consent to proceed with it. They did all they could for Izaya up until then, but the additional surgery would spell a lesser chance of complications in the future. He didn’t give a shit if Izaya died on the operating table, so with a shrug, he scrawled his signature on the papers the doctor shoved into his hands.

The man was sleeping, dark hair scattered across the pillow. The pale skin almost matched the white sheets around him, and Shizuo frowned a little at the lack of color. It was strange to see Izaya so wounded when Shizuo wasn’t the perpetrator of the assault. Despite Izaya’s insistence that he was uncatchable, Shizuo _had_ injured him before, just not in a major way. Not like this.

He plopped down in the chair, wondering if he should just shake the fucker awake. Anger boiled in his mind. He had indulged in so many fantasies of getting his revenge on Izaya ever since his tendons were cut, but Izaya’s current state was enough to loosen the oppressive chains of his desire for violence. Izaya looked like he was on his deathbed, even if Shizuo knew that wasn’t true.

He made do with kicking the closest leg of the bed.

The smooth face wrinkled into a frown, and Izaya moved a little, restless, pained sounds erupting from his throat. His eyes fluttered in steady blinks, as if to join the rhythm of the monitor. When his gaze, heavy with sleep, fell on Shizuo, Shizuo saw a reflection of the one emotion that he didn’t think was possible for someone like Izaya.

Panic.

The monitor beeps sped up, almost frantic, and Izaya threw an angry glance at the machine, irritated by the dead give-away of his inner state.

It was a remarkable turn of events. Izaya was _scared_ of him. Shizuo wasn’t exhibiting any signs of anger, but perhaps that made him seem more sinister, more determined and ready to go through with it. Emotions flickered through Izaya’s expression, and Shizuo thought he recognized shadows of fear, confusion and then, in a true Izaya-like fashion, Shizuo saw the brimming excitement in the face of danger.

“Before you kill me,” Izaya rasped, his voice lost somewhere, “allow me to say something? And don’t interrupt me.”

Shizuo nodded. It promised to be interesting, because Izaya clearly assumed Shizuo was there to finish him off, and he was curious to hear what kind of taunts, pleas or dying words Izaya would come up with when he thought he was staring into the face of death.

Izaya struggled to sit up, his arm over the stomach, a pained expression from the strain. He cleared his throat.

Then he began speaking, breathless, perhaps from the surge of adrenaline that overflowed him. And god, did he look _beautiful_ , with his cheeks finally flushed with some color and eyes glimmering with raw emotion.

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves.”

“By each let this be heard.”

Izaya paused, closing his tired eyes for a second, and no matter how much Shizuo tried, he couldn’t take pleasure in seeing him so weak and frail. Izaya finally managed to even his breathing, and he continued.

“Some do it with a bitter look. Some, with a flattering word. The coward,” his voice dipped lower, soft, “does it with a kiss. The brave man,” he gently tipped his head at Shizuo, “with a sword.”

He fell silent, looking pleased by the effect the words had on Shizuo. Shizuo didn’t move, stunned, trying to comprehend the meaning.

“I wasn’t aware poetry could hold so much power over you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya tried to lilt, but the sound kept trembling. “Perhaps I should use it as a weapon more often.”

“Oh,” Shizuo felt stupid. For some reason he assumed the words belonged to Izaya. “That was a poem?”

“Oscar Wilde,” Izaya weakly nodded. “I don’t think my interpretation quite fits the one originally intended, but such is the power of imagination that you can assign your own meaning to anything you read or hear.”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo said simply. “I didn’t come here to talk poetry.”

“Is the brave man here to kill me?” Izaya asked. He could no longer hide his smile, lips curling into sharpest lines.

“Well, you sure got some debt to pay.”

“I really do,” Izaya said, barely above a whisper. “…Don’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Referenced Oscar Wilde, "The Ballad of Reading Gaol".
> 
> (Anyone notice Izaya’s text about MMA? :P I was originally planning to include a scene where they both attend that event, because I had this idea where Izaya arranged an underground betting ring around MMA fighting because Shizuo was a fan. The concept got lost somewhere along the way, though. Oh well, maybe in a different story.)


	8. My Due Diligence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title refers to the song "The Only Thing Worth Fighting For" by Lera Lynn.

“Adabashi got what he deserved.”

Namie laced the words with heavy disdain, and Izaya glanced at her, tearing his eyes away from the painting that now decorated his living room.

“No sympathy for an ally, hmm?”

“He was told to dispose of the bodies to make sure that no one hears about them, and the idiot proceeds to dump them in _Ikebukuro_ ’s garbage. Give me a fucking _break_.”

She was sitting in one of his chairs, legs crossed on top of each other. The light of the fireplace framed her pretty face and cast a golden streak over the long black hair that ran down her back. She was beautiful, but more importantly, she was smart, and it showed in her every movement, full of grace and decorum. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, but human personality always shone through, and for someone as observant as Izaya, beauty was directly correlated with how interesting the bearer of the looks was.

Izaya feasted his eyes on her for a few moments, before he turned back to the painting.

Namie continued her rant. “I mean, standing in front of a police station with an ‘Arrest Me’ sign would theoretically be more idiotic, but still, this one has to take the cake. Of course Yodogiri would have him take the fall for that. How dumb can a person be?”

“You’re one to talk when you were so reckless with the Bosch painting,” Izaya said, amused by the woman’s arrogance. “If it weren’t for your ridiculous oversight, I would have never had to shatter whatever trust Shizu-chan had in me.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Namie said, looking at him with disgust. “You enjoyed every bit of that twisted torture. Slashing tendons? I’d be scared of you if I didn’t know you better. You have no guts to directly hurt anyone but that monster that cannot be broken.”

“Perceptive,” Izaya gave her an appreciative smile. “Still, it was your unfortunate mistake, and for that, my dear, this painting now belongs to me.”

“Why are you so fascinated with it?” Namie asked, flicking hair back. “Don’t tell me you’re staring at the same woman Seiji is obsessed with…”

There was a dip in her voice when she said her brother’s name, because Seiji was the only thing on her mind those days. Izaya knew everything, including what happened between Seiji and Mika, and his temporary alliance with police filled Namie with terror. Shizuo might not be so keen to work with him again, but Izaya did have a number of other contacts in the police department, including people with more political power than one insignificant detective.

The woman, normally sharp and perceptive, seemed to abandon all reason when it came to her brother. In a fit of irrational hatred, she had shipped the painting off to Bruges, a small city in Belgium, because now that Mika Harima shared the face with the woman from the painting, Seiji grew to be fascinated with her. Namie couldn’t seem to handle sharing her brother not with just one, but two borderline fantasies. Izaya had been manipulating Mika the entire time for more than one reason, so he had to go look for that painting if he wanted her to cooperate in finding Shizuo’s murderer. It was a lot of extra work, but he needed to put together clues and leads that made it look like he was just as unaware as Shizu-chan was. From the very start, Izaya knew who the murderer was, knew about Adabashi, too, and it was by a stroke of luck that Masaomi did see him on that night. He used that bit to weave the right picture for Shizuo, because he couldn’t just come out and dump all that information on the detective. No, Shizuo needed the world to make sense, and he definitely didn’t want to know about Izaya’s ways of acquiring information.

“Well?” Namie said.

Izaya almost frowned, recalling that she was in the room. What did she ask again? Ah, his fascination with the painting, which really equaled his fascination with Shizuo.

“Because Shizu-chan took note of it,” he said, remembering the way Shizuo rubbed at the back of his head when he was trying to understand what the painting depicted.

“The cop who can barely tell a criminal from an innocent? How could that guy appreciate art?”

“I’d be more careful with your language, Namie-san. Shizu-chan has amazing instincts, and it really doesn’t make sense for you to look down on someone who is leagues above your level.”

These words Izaya said easily, like he was complimenting the weather or announcing the time. It wasn’t a warning, or a threat, or even an opinion; by now, it was an undeniable fact to him that he held Shizuo above all humans.

“Leagues above me at what?” Namie rolled her pretty eyes. “At getting your attention, maybe.”

“You’re very snarky today,” Izaya said, turning to her. “I suppose total humiliation can make a person grumpy.” He gave her a taunting smile, knowing that she was all too powerless to do anything about it.

He owned her now, because he had saved her. Adabashi wasn’t meant to be the only one to fall — Yodogiri clearly intended for Yagiri to go down as well, because Adabashi wasn’t ordered to keep his mouth shut about the clinic.

Namie didn’t know that Yodogiri was aware of the police’s attention on the clinic. If it wasn’t for Izaya’s tip-off, she would have been caught red-handed during the bust Shizuo pushed for. The now deserted basements did previously host a number of freshly imported half-vampires who were yet to undergo the brainwashing treatment Yagiri’s machines put them through, all of that more than enough to fully incriminate Yagiri and her shady personnel. More concerned about clearing out the signs of illegal activity first, Namie forgot about the painting in the office and the important papers that she kept behind it; that was the oversight that forced Izaya to immobilize Shizuo. He knew that if he was caught taking documents out, Shizuo would confiscate them again like he did at the party, and he couldn’t allow them to fall into the hands of police. There was too much evidence there: contracts that outlined the upcoming merger between Yagiri Pharmaceuticals and Nebula, contracts between Yagiri and Yodogiri’s little talent agency that was owned by a different persona, other important transactions and names. They rested safely in the drawer of his desk now, and Izaya did wonder if they were ultimately worth it. Whatever trust Shizuo had in him was now irrevocably destroyed.

There was a rare moment of hesitation in him when he texted Namie that morning. Clear as day, he remembered every little smile, every small gesture that Shizuo was giving him despite doing his best to hide it. Beneath the usual layer of headstrong stubbornness, Shizuo was melting. It amazed Izaya how easily Shizuo accepted his lust for him once Izaya finally forced it to the surface, but he should have seen it coming; the animal did rarely question his instincts. His morning-after talk was adorable, and Izaya was immensely enjoying himself until Shizuo announced that he was going after Yagiri later that day.

“Shouldn’t you go find the body first?” Izaya tried to steer him in a different direction, leaning over the counter to sweeten Shizuo’s tea. He had no real qualms with “betraying” Shizuo, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t try to avoid going down that road.

“I can do that right after,” Shizuo shrugged. “It’s kind of urgent that we check on Yagiri; they probably know we have Adabashi by now.”

“Ah, you’re so adorable when you’re this naive,” Izaya teased him, slipping a little. He shouldn’t have said that, and a more guarded Shizuo would have definitely caught onto that remark.

“What?” Shizuo brought his cup down, flustered, and Izaya had to stop himself from leaning forward and kissing him somewhere, anywhere would do. Now that he had a taste of what intimacy felt like with Shizuo, he could feel the greed for it growing within himself. “Don’t fucking call me adorable. And how am I naive?”

Of course, they would know about Adabashi being arrested. They didn’t even need Izaya’s information for that; Yodogiri’s channels were vast and encompassing. The problem was, Yodogiri had no intention of saving Yagiri Pharmaceuticals. Izaya didn’t know why, and that made him that much more eager to find out. With just one text Namie Yagiri could belong to him, and he wasn’t about to pass up on the chance to own a person who had met Jinnai Yodogiri himself _in person_.

For that reason alone, Shizuo’s insistence on going after Yagiri was truly unfortunate for both of them. Izaya stared at his own reflection in the black pool of the tea, deft fingers typing up the message underneath the granite countertop. He didn’t need to see his phones to type on them. Shizuo was oblivious to the motion, absorbed in his own thoughts, his guard still down from the previous night.

“You alright?” Shizuo suddenly asked. Izaya blinked, looking up at him and brushing his thumb against the _Send_ button, sending the message on its way to warn Yagiri. Was that concern on Shizuo’s face?

“Yeah,” he managed a smile, irritated at how slow his lips moved. “You’re so insensitive,” he sighed and found some terrible excuse for a change of subject. The implications of his decision weighed heavy on him, and normally he’d mull over it until he was completely happy with the arrangements, but Shizuo’s presence restricted him. He had to keep up appearances.

Namie brought him back to reality with a small laugh. “I must say, even I am a little amazed at how low you can fall,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t particularly like that monster, but damn if he doesn’t have the right to kill you twice for what you did to him. Is it really okay to treat your favorite toy that way?”

“Shizu-chan is fine,” Izaya waved his hand. “I led him to his murderer, didn’t I? As far as I’m concerned, I have done really well.”

“I don’t understand the games you play. One moment you talk about him in a way that _I_ talk about my Seiji, the next you dismiss everything.”

“Maybe with time,” Izaya said vaguely.

‘ _Maybe with time Namie would understand his games_ ’ was what he meant to imply, but his mind drifted elsewhere. Maybe with time he would stop being so dissonant about Shizuo Heiwajima.

His eyes shifted, taking in every little detail of the painting that detailed the human sins. It was a terrible oversimplification, the human nature spanning way past the seven sins, not to mention that it was silly to qualify some traits as “sins” in the first place. It did seem to capture the very basics, though.

Namie’s sin was, of course, pride. For that reason alone Izaya took her in as his secretary, because it gave him endless joy to observe her in this new position where she had to work for a person she despised. There was also a rational layer to the decision where Izaya realized he could use a secretary. Information had to be sorted and managed, and he was only human, and time was limited to twenty-four hours a day. If his workload lessened, he could allow himself to play a little more, maybe even rest sometimes. And then there was that impulsive streak of Izaya’s personality that frequently prompted him to do the funniest things. Living with Shizuo for a few weeks made him realize just how much he hated his empty apartment, and Namie promised to be entertaining enough to grant him the proper company and amusement. He wished Shizuo could stay with him forever instead, but on a list of impossible things sorted by the lowest probability chance first, that had to be close to the top.

“Say, what would you say your sin is?” Izaya asked, curious if she understood herself as well as she understood the world, save for her forbidden love for her younger brother.

Namie looked up at the painting, gracefully arching her neck. “Arrogance,” she said. “As if that’s a sin. It’s just a mental state.”

He shouldn’t have bothered asking, really. Namie was one of the more intelligent people he had the pleasure of observing.

“And mine?”

“Envy,” she sneered, the correct answer so instant that Izaya felt a little worried if he was still underestimating her when he was already full of praise. Worry came hand-in-hand with excitement, and Izaya lightly clapped his hands.

“You’re a real delight, you know,” he said, much to Namie’s visible displeasure. “I look forward to working with you.”

 

!

 

_Earlier that day_

 

Shinra was a terrible friend by every normal standard.

He never called Izaya first, never congratulated him on his birthday, and almost never invited him to the parties that he threw at his apartment (because Shizuo was most likely there). The list of Shinra’s mishaps was seemingly endless. But very few areas of Izaya’s life followed the usual trends observed in society, his own sisters perhaps the strongest testament to how twisted his relationships were, so he was never really concerned about the lack of Shinra’s “official” care for him. He liked to tease him about it, sure, but deep inside, he didn’t place importance on the lack of social calls from his only friend.

Because what made Shinra a _good_ friend was the fact that Izaya could tell him anything, and Shinra’s status in his life would remain unchanged. This stemmed from the fact that Shinra didn’t care about a thing in the world but his own wife, and therefore, their friendship could only be affected by Celty’s influence. And Celty wasn’t the kind of woman who would exert that kind of control over Shinra, unless Izaya did something to hurt him.

The latter was impossible, because Izaya was a little fixated on keeping Shinra safe. That sort of obsessive protectiveness fell into place a long time ago, back when they attended middle school, and it never changed, because Izaya himself rarely did, his fluid personality capable of stretching far and wide, morphing into all kinds of shapes and figures, but always made of the same material. For that reason he was a little irritated with himself for having involved Shinra with Yagiri and the clinic’s activities. He got carried away by the possibility of establishing an alliance with Namie because he knew of her role in Yodogiri’s games, and he miscalculated what exactly he was involving Shinra in. He never knew about the bloodletting rituals until that local politician brought light to it by accidentally killing the three women.

In the end, Shinra still made his own decision, but Izaya made a mental note to himself to do a better job of researching the risks in the future.

“Forgive me, for I have failed to do my due diligence,” Izaya confessed theatrically when he came out of the bathroom.

He was at Shinra’s now, and only a few hours had passed since he cut Shizuo down. When he crossed Shinra’s doorstep, there was still blood mixed with mud on his hands and his mouth felt gross, because right after he was finished securing both the painting and the documents, he doubled over at a random sidewalk, emptying the entirety of his stomach on the curb. The spasms were vicious, pain shooting up his chest and throat to settle in his nose, and he found himself on all fours on the dirty pavement. He laughed a little after, the psychological dissonance in himself apparently so strong that it manifested itself in a physical reaction.

Shinra was sitting at the dining table, a hand propping up his slightly bored face. Izaya had just got there to say goodbye because he was leaving town for a while, but Shinra was already losing interest. He had the attention span of a five-year-old when Celty wasn’t around, his mind drifting off into fantasy land where he could imagine himself being with her.

“Oh?” he blinked at him, suddenly aware of his presence. “What’d you do this time?”

“Ah, nothing,” Izaya smiled, keeping his thoughts to himself. Shinra didn’t need to know that Izaya regretted putting him in danger. “By the way, I should thank you for taking care of Masaomi all this time.”

“No worries,” Shinra waved his hand. “You paid me more money than I make in six months for that.”

“Well, it was unfortunate that he would fall like that in a game that he didn’t even play,” said Izaya, fully meaning the words. Kida wasn’t involved, aside from buying drugs from Adabashi on occasion. “I suppose I felt somewhat responsible.”

“A rare sentiment for someone like you,” Shinra teased him. “Is the kid fine now?”

“Mhm, his friends are taking care of him now,” Izaya said, remembering his meeting with Mikado after the fact.

From the very start, Mikado had the information about Yodogiri’s parties from Izaya himself. It was an interesting sequence of events, where he had Akabayashi’s adopted daughter work for Vorona and lead her to Mikado’s trail. That allowed Izaya to introduce Mikado as an independent party and further Shizuo’s investigation, steering it into the right direction without raising any suspicions on himself.

Izaya couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for why he went so far in his effort to control the investigation in a way where he himself looked innocent and unaware of the things that were happening in Ikebukuro. It started from the moment Shizuo faltered in his suspicions of him, and Izaya took the opportunity to see how far he could stretch that infinitesimally small amount of trust the detective had in him. Trust was an intricate concept that Izaya never really felt himself, but he knew how to act like he did. It was a two-way road, and Izaya knew that once he started trusting Shizuo, Shizuo would slowly begin trusting him back. That was why he slept in Shizuo’s car, fully exposing his back towards him, or why he left his computer unprotected, or why he willingly went off-line, which he did actually do without cheating. He had already set the events in motion by that point, having stolen Shizuo’s badge to enter the hospital pretending to be police and convincing Mika to run away for a few days until he gave her the signal to come out.

The game was fun, but it escalated to a point that Izaya didn’t even dream of, where Shizuo actually lowered his guard enough that he allowed himself to be interested in Izaya. To Izaya, that was his first time of physical intimacy, and the night was so thrilling, it threatened to go down as the most memorable event of his life. He took the trust that he was giving Shizuo to its maximum, allowing him to freely explore his body and even take pictures of him in those compromising positions, and all the time he was endlessly amazed by the amount of pleasure he derived from the experience, both mental and carnal. Surrendering control, giving himself up and being at Shizuo’s mercy felt right in too many ways.

But that trust was irrevocably shattered now. It wasn’t the first time Izaya built something from scratch and then destroyed it with another human, but it was the first time he wasn’t exactly pleased to think about the results. It was also the first time he didn’t want to _observe_ the results, because he really didn’t want to see Shizuo anymore, the memories of the previous night still burning bright in his mind. He wasn’t eager to replace them with something else.

“I think Shizuo will kill me if he ever sees me again.”

“Shizuo?” Shinra perked up, intrigued. “You called him by his real name!”

Izaya decided not to comment on the slip-up, amused by himself. “I’m serious, Shinra. He must be feeling very very murderous right about now. He’s probably back awake already, considering how inhuman his monstrous body is.”

Shinra wasn’t happy with him when Izaya told him what he did to Shizuo. He left out the intimate details of the story, because he was possessive about Shizuo and wanted to be the only one who knew certain things about him. He’d been diligent in getting rid of any serious romantic prospects on Shizuo’s horizon, and if he could prevent him from having one-night-stands, he would do that, too. Unfortunately, he wasn’t omniscient enough to stop a person from doing spontaneous acts like that.

“Well, it was nice knowing you, Izaya-kun!” Shinra chirped after Izaya finished telling him what happened. “You’re pretty much a walking dead man.”

“Please,” Izaya smiled. “I’m pretty good at surviving.”

“Did you really have a reason to do what you did?” Shinra asked. There was that familiar smile on his face that was sad but accepting nonetheless. Izaya mostly only saw it directed at himself, but on occasion, Shinra smiled the same way at Shizuo — usually when he brought beat-up men to his doorstep, awkwardly asking Shinra to patch them up.

“Of course, I had a reason. What kind of question is that?”

“Well, you’re someone who always runs,” Shinra pointed. “I’m just wondering if there isn’t an element of that in here. You said Shizuo began to trust you, right? And you’ve always been so obsessed with him.”

“Are you trying to say I just sabotaged myself?” Izaya asked, falling a little pensive.

The words rang plausible enough that they could apply to the situation. He had observed his humans falling into that pattern on more than one occasion, but Izaya wasn’t exactly normal. There was only one reason for why he did what he did; he was at a crossroad between choosing Shizuo and choosing his humans, and he went with the latter. He could have stayed by Shizuo’s side, but then he wouldn’t help Namie, wouldn’t get a chance to observe her, would miss the opportunity to get closer to Yodogiri… If Izaya had learned one thing about love throughout all the years of loving humans, it was the fact that love, no matter what kind, demanded sacrifices. Sacrifice Shizuo so he could love humans, or sacrifice his love for humans so he could be with Shizuo. Considering the intensity of his feelings for Shizuo, he expected that decision to be hard, but it wasn’t, because one of the paths was a lot clearer than the other.

There was no option to choose both, because Shizuo wouldn’t come along unless Izaya diminished his appreciation for humans. Part of him almost wished that Shizuo was more of an idiot, and then Izaya could string him along and play on both sides, but Shizuo saw right through him, aside from a few blind spots where he wanted to believe in a better Izaya. Analyzing his own potential, Izaya couldn’t really deny that it was possible for him to dial down on his games, perhaps stick to observing behaviors that were more benevolent in nature, but he didn’t see the reason to.

He was falling asleep on Shinra’s couch, defeated by exhaustion that he wasn’t aware to be present in him. He didn’t know if it was a dream or reality, but he thought he saw a shadow of concern on Shinra’s face.

“Are you cold?” Shinra asked.

“Maybe a little,” Izaya admitted in a strangely quiet voice, curling up on the couch. “Let me take a small nap here, yeah?” The rough material of the couch rubbed against his cheek, but it felt good not having to support his unusually heavy body.

When he woke up, the lights were out in the room and there was a warm quilt over him, little cute aliens dancing in-between the slightly frayed stitches. Celty did always try to introduce the idea of harmless extraterrestrial life in their lives.

Quietly, he showed himself out, still cocooned inside the quilt. Celty would never mind, and even underneath his coat and the quilt he felt unbearably cold, the chills running deep through his body, penetrating through the skin to settle on the bones.

 

!

 

_Three months later_

 

Skipping through the streets of Shinjuku, Izaya looked like someone who didn’t have a single worry in the whole world, someone who had a good life.

Whether or not that was true depended on how Izaya chose to see the world. Right about then, it was his first day back in Tokyo in a long time, and prancing through the streets of the familiar district, he was feeling really good, not quite on the seventh heaven, but maybe third or even fourth. On top of being back on the old streets filled with the sounds of life, Izaya had recently succeeded in arranging a merger between Yagiri Pharmaceuticals and Nebula, a giant international corporation that was increasing its influence in Japan. He didn’t particularly care for the scientific research done by the two companies, but what he did love about the event was the fact that it went against all plans of Jinnai Yodogiri.

If Izaya chose to focus on that part of his life, then yes, his life was amazing. If he were to think back on a certain monster, however, then the colors would turn a little gray, but there was no need to go there. Various sources informed him that Shizuo had crawled out of his depression and was back to his usual self. Nakura whined non-stop about how Shizuo smacked him when he was sent to check up on him, and according to him, Shizuo took Izaya’s departure pretty hard. It was endearing that the betrayal shook Shizuo so much, but it also prickled at Izaya’s heart to think about it. Shizuo had kept his promise to him, too, not a single mention of Shinra in the entirety of the case that he delivered to the state attorney, despite there being a very detailed account of their suspicions on Yagiri Pharmaceuticals. He kept his word, and Izaya wondered if he had kept his own promise that he gave on that day. The way Shizuo worded it was, “take the case seriously”. An easy promise to uphold, because Izaya took _everything_ seriously. He took everything to heart and let it go through him, and not a single fiber of his being was superficial. Every emotion, every laugh, every pretense… It all came from the heart.

People often believed that Izaya wasn’t genuine or honest, and while Izaya knew very well why they would say that, he struggled to see himself that way. At the risk of sounding cliche, he did find it hard to distinguish between what people called reality and what they saw as a mask. They always accused him of being fake, but it wasn’t like he was following a script that he had chosen on his own. He wasn’t only choosing his masks based on his whims. He carefully picked them based on what the _world_ wanted to see, what the world _wanted_ him to be. And when you blurred the line between his expectations and the world’s, who really was to say that Izaya wasn’t playing under the world’s violin, therefore acting out his best self? Who was the ‘real’ Izaya, anyway? In the past, he had checked his brain for abnormalities, and there were none. His childhood was banal, eventless, the only exciting moments starting from the moment his twin sisters became self-aware, and by that time Izaya had already formed his personality. As far as he could tell, the way he was — that was the real him, and he wasn’t sure why the world was so insistent on claiming otherwise.

But of course, that was just a load of needless philosophy. Izaya chuckled to himself, shrugging the thoughts away. Shizu-chan would call it a load of bullshit, and sometimes Izaya was inclined to agree with him. He always had a soft spot for Shizuo’s straightforward thinking. In fact, he was envious of it. No matter where Shizuo went or what he did, he somehow always knew what was right and wrong, and that kind of existence was an object of envy for Izaya. Thinking about Shizuo brought about irritating feelings, though, so Izaya focused on the life around him, the humans that he loved so much that he surrendered his love for Shizuo for them.

He sifted through the crowd, absorbing the energy of the people that surrounded him. The last three months he had spent doing business in New York City, a city that was just as lively as Tokyo, but it lacked a certain charm that Izaya attributed to the fact that he grew up around here. He was allowed to be sentimental; he was only human.

His phone rang, informing him that his humans needed him, and he picked up, excited by the _Unknown Caller_ tag flashing on the screen, wondering what kind of person was going to be introduced into his life.

The voice spoke before Izaya had a chance to say something. “ _Hello, hello, could this be Izaya Orihara himself?_ ”

“Yeah, this is Izaya Orihara,” Izaya answered normally, taken aback by the pumping energy of the man’s voice.

“ _Well, you’ve certainly been very nosy and playing on a field that doesn’t belong to you, but I suppose that’s fitting for a small oblivious fry like you! It’s not like your little games even registered on my radar until very recently,_ ” the man chuckled. “ _Unfortunately, your latest push for the merger between Nebula and Yagiri Pharmaceuticals actually caused me more trouble than I’m willing to tolerate._ ”

“And you would be?..” Izaya asked, narrowing his eyes. He suspected he already knew the answer to that question, but he wanted to hear it from the man himself.

“ _Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to introduce myself? I’m not sure I care to! I’m feeling magnanimous today, so I will warn you instead. Your face is too pretty, Izaya Orihara._ ”

“Huh?”

“ _You can’t exactly hide within a crowd, because you stand out too much. Especially wearing that easily identifiable coat, and god, do you have a poor sense of fashion._ ”

The man cackled, and the sound suddenly appeared behind him, and he felt a blade sinking deep into his back. Izaya staggered, falling down and snapping his neck sideways to catch a glimpse of the man’s face, but the man was already walking away, and the only thing that he could clearly register in his mind was the loud grating voice that came from the phone that he dropped on the ground.

“ _After all, you did let my little bird escape… Ah, Ruri… Anyway! I hope you sleep for a very long time. If you do wake up, you could entertain your idea of a comeback. In that case, my name is Jinnai Yodogiri, and I will be pleased to meet the future you if you do end up surviving. Goodnight, Izaya Orihara._ ”

Izaya tried to reach for the phone, hoping to speed-dial Shinra’s number, but the world slowly faded to black before he could begin to extend his hand forward.

 

!

 

People could deduce all kinds of things from the fact that Shizuo was his emergency contact, but Izaya set that years ago as a joke.

He never really thought he would find himself in a hospital because throughout the years of playing with all kinds of dangerous people, he was remarkably skilled at avoiding dangerous situations. Some people left him alone because they were scared of him, others were hushed into silence and inactivity because of the information Izaya had on them, and the rest didn’t know how connected he was, so they wouldn’t risk taking him down. Jinnai Yodogiri didn’t belong to any of those categories, but for some reason Izaya never really took him as someone who would come out in broad daylight and attack him in such a boring way.

That was one of his biggest flaws — the desire for things to be interesting, exciting. Sometimes he attributed it to others by mistake, and it was almost fatal this time around.

It set off the old joke, though, where Izaya thought it would be hilarious if Shizuo got a phone-call from a hospital informing him that he was possibly dying. He was planning to be awake for it so he could enjoy the monster’s reaction, but the next time he opened his eyes, Shizuo was already there, and sheesh, did he look serious.

Of course, Izaya was scared. How could he not be? His heart thrummed inside his ribcage like a caged bird that wanted to break out, and the stupid machine to his right gave him no chance to hide that fact. Heartache was a strange thing, like hot liquid pouring around his heart. He felt his cheeks flush with heat, and the beeps just kept growing faster. _What a wonderfully human reaction_ , he thought tiredly, giving up on trying to rein in his emotions.

It wasn’t his blunder, because he had no control over the machine that telegraphed his inner state so mercilessly, but that was what ultimately gave Shizuo the upper-hand in those moments. Once his fear was exposed, Izaya was forced to play handicapped, akin to entering a game of chess with no rooks on his side of the board. Endlessly amused by the way the events were unfolding, Izaya recited the first words that entered his mind, and Shizuo looked like he soaked it up, surprising Izaya yet again with his perception.

Wilde’s poem, interpreted in this context, made perfect sense. Izaya had “killed” Shizuo with intimacy, and in turn, Shizuo was about to kill him for that. There was no sword in the picture, but Shizuo never really needed tools to destroy things around himself.

“You sure got some debt to pay,” Shizuo said, and his voice was disturbingly calm. He sat by his bedside, wearing an expression that Izaya had never seen on him before. Shizuo rarely graced him with anything but anger and frustration, but in those moments, Shizuo’s expression would be best described as “focused.” His gaze was fixed steady on Izaya, eyes slightly narrowed and brows deeply tied together.

“I really do, don’t I?” Izaya managed to say.

There was silence after that, and Izaya wondered if his naked fear was the reason why he was still alive. The machine was still beeping, fast and frantic, and he was in a dire need of a chance to breathe properly if he ever wanted to have a shot at evening out the battleground.

Shizuo was the first to break the silence, and once again, his words caught Izaya off-guard.

“Once, you told me you don’t lie when you sell information.”

That was correct, unless one counted lies by omission, but Izaya didn’t consider omitting information a lie. “What of it?” Izaya asked.

“Well, let’s transact,” Shizuo spat the words like he was disgusted with himself for saying them. “I want answers, and you fucked me so hard three months ago, you owe me a whole lot, Izaya-kun. Since your rotten mouth is incapable of saying the truth for free, I’m gonna use my saved up capital and buy it from you. We’ll be even if you do well. How does that sound?”

Izaya couldn’t disagree with that.

“It doesn’t look like I have a choice,” he said weakly. “Could you give me a moment to catch my breath?”

Shizuo nodded — he rarely denied someone when they asked for something honestly, and Izaya rested his head against the bed-frame, breathing in, breathing out. Steady intakes of breath. It hurt. Pain was unbearable, and worst of all, Izaya’s mind was too sharp to deny that the pain was emotional. Trust was a two-way road, and Izaya accidentally partook in the act, taking it so seriously that he began feeling it for real. His feelings for Shizuo Heiwajima had always been unique, and that hadn’t changed once the coin of his hatred flipped to the other side.

“Alright, Shizu-chan,” he smiled when he finally regained control of his body, his heart rate lowering to a more suitable value. “Shoot.”

Shizuo glared at him, thinking. For Izaya, it was an unpleasant situation to be in. He would be forced to answer honestly, but despite his predicament, he still felt the familiar surge of excitement wash over him, because curiosity was another one of his downfalls. He was dying to hear what kind of questions Shizuo would ask first.

“Were you really a virgin?” Shizuo blurted in one breath.

Izaya did his best not to laugh out loud, still cautious about enraging the beast. Now was not the time to push his buttons, because he wasn’t in any position to dodge blows.

“Yes, Shizu-chan,” he said, his lips trembling at the corners. “Technically, I still am. You never did finish the job.”

“Okay,” Shizuo nodded, satisfied with the answer. It was incredibly amusing that of all possible lies he suspected of Izaya, he wanted to clear that one first. “You and Yagiri. You cut me down for her sake, didn’t you?”

Smart beast.

“Yes.”

“She important to you?”

“I suppose,” Izaya said, unsure of how to answer a question like that. “As important as any other human.”

“Did you regret any of it?”

“Be more specific,” Izaya frowned. “I refuse to answer questions that are vague.”

“Did you regret taking me down?”

Izaya closed his eyes. “Yes,” he breathed out, voice small. Eye contact was too difficult when he was being honest. He didn’t see Shizuo’s face, but the next question was so immediate, he couldn’t pause to wonder how his answer might have been received.

“Would you do it again?”

“Let’s add another rule,” Izaya cringed. “I refuse to answer questions that are hypothetical in nature.”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo grumbled, but didn’t protest further. “I read your fucking messages. The ones you sent me for years.”

“Oh yeah?” Izaya said, opening his eyes again. “I thought you had them on auto-delete.”

“And I remember what you said on that day.”

Nothing seemed to go Izaya’s way. “How inconvenient,” Izaya lamented. “I was a fool to think that you could be incapacitated by drugs, no matter how high the dose.”

They sat in silence after that, Shizuo visibly processing what they had covered, and Izaya would pay an inordinate amount of money to know what was on Shizuo’s mind in those moments. His face was so focused, lips thinned either from anger or the intense thinking that he was doing, most likely both. But the most shocking development was the fact that Shizuo wasn’t murderous — when Izaya woke up, he was sure that his minutes were numbered, but once again, he was surprised by the unpredictability of the monster.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Shizuo finally declared.

Izaya looked at him in silent confusion. He didn’t want to be having this conversation in the first place, and it was annoying that Shizuo expected him to hold up the other end. “What doesn’t make sense?” Izaya asked after the silence lasted so long that it began to irritate him.

“Well, you don’t make sense,” Shizuo looked at him intently, like he was dissecting him. “You say all those things, then you fuck me over and disappear. If all those things were true, why would you destroy whatever shit was going on between us so goddamn easily? Something _has_ to be a lie, either your shitty feelings, or the way you acted on them. Otherwise, it doesn’t follow.”

He must have spent too much time with that blond partner of his, because his thinking was a lot more sound in its logic.

“Well, what’s the question here?” Izaya asked, irritated. “I’m not fond of this conversation, so either ask the information you want, or kindly leave me in peace. I’m hurt and need rest, after all.”

“ _My mind is as crisp as ever, except for these fleeting moments when I think about you, or the lack of you in my life._ ”

 _Great_ , Izaya thought, a little angry at Shizuo for being so ruthless in the attack. The treacherous machine that tracked his heartbeat slipped up again, probably in a fit of malfunction, and Izaya slowly fought the weakness in his fingers to tear away the little wires that were attached to his hands to read his pulse. He didn’t need to have any more of himself exposed.

“Still isn’t a question,” Izaya smiled, once he finished dealing with the wires.

“ _I love you so, so much, Shizuo_ ,” Shizuo continued quoting him, and Izaya closed his eyes again. By the look of the sadistic triumph on his face, Shizuo was enjoying every second of Izaya’s growing discomfort. It did occur to Izaya that Shizuo probably caught some of the things he said in Yagiri’s office, but he was hoping that that particular bit wouldn’t be noticed.

“I do love you,” he whispered after a long pause. He didn’t intend for his voice to sound so small, but for some reason his vocal chords were disobeying him. “But I’m sure you realize that I’m not really capable of traditional notions of romantic love. As an illustrative example, normal people don’t usually slash the tendons of those they love. How are the scars, by the way?” he asked, opening his eyes and putting on his most irritating smile.

Shizuo didn’t look affected by the taunt. “Why did you cut me down?”

“You know why. I had to help Yagiri.”

“Why?”

“Because she needed help. Because she is more fun to have around. Because she knew things about Jinnai Yodogiri.”

“You’ve been trying to get to Yodogiri all this time?”

“Mhm. As you can see, he got to me first,” Izaya chuckled, looking over himself. His body was weak under the covers. He could somewhat move his arms around, but getting up wasn’t possible yet.

“So you went behind my back because you wanted to get to Yodogiri. I don’t really understand why you wouldn’t just tell me that,” Shizuo said, eyes stubborn. “You trusted me with your body, why not your mind? You know I have zero expectations from you. I even closed my eyes on your involvement with Yagiri.”

“You were still disappointed in me,” Izaya pointed out.

“No, I always knew it was something you could do. I was just angry that you did do it.”

“You’re really getting this wrong, Shizu-chan,” Izaya said, amused. “I’m not out to get Yodogiri to stop his wrongdoings. Quite the opposite of that. I want to find him so I can observe him. You have been quite fixated on attributing good intentions to me when there are none. I owe you a fair amount like we mentioned, so I’ll warn you: be careful with that line of thinking. A human mind is notoriously capable of constructing delusions and conveniently focusing on the facts that support those delusions. You don’t want to go down that road. It’s full of crushed hopes and disillusionment.”

“To observe him, huh?” Shizuo repeated, completely ignoring Izaya’s warning. “Wouldn’t you like to observe the way he acted if he was caught? We could do that much together.”

Now that was a strange thing to say. Izaya thought on it, intrigued. It was definitely an exciting possibility, and he wouldn’t be opposed to going down that route at all. But he knew that if he agreed to it, Shizuo would fall further down the hole that he was digging for himself. His conviction that Izaya wasn’t completely amoral couldn’t afford to get any stronger, or Izaya would have to deal with a very annoying monster.

“No,” he shook his head lightly. “I want to see him play unrestricted. And I want to play on his side, too. Let it go, Shizu-chan. You and I will never be allies, no matter how much you try to spin the world.”

“You love me,” Shizuo said the words hesitantly, as if he didn’t know what they meant. “Whatever fucked up love you feel for me, doesn’t it hold for something? Sure, it can’t be the standard shit, but what _does_ it do?”

 _Everything_ , Izaya tiredly thought. It threatened to hold so much power over him, it was scary sometimes. He wanted to observe Shizuo every second of every day, he wanted to do so many things to him, put him in so many places and situations, but he couldn’t. He knew that Shizuo would fall apart if he were to know the extent of things Izaya did for the sake of his hobby. His moral compass was too strong. Be it anyone else, and it would have been a terrific ride full of amazing moments. He had frequently played with humans that held feelings for him in the past, but Shizuo was special. Izaya wasn’t sure how far he could afford to push him into hating him before he would regret it. He didn’t want to end up in a place where Shizuo hated him so much that he would lose whatever lingering interest he had in Izaya. That would be a point of no return that he definitely wanted to avoid. And that was the point he thought he had crossed when he cut his tendons, but judging by Shizuo’s calm demeanor, he was still around, still within Izaya’s reach, and he didn’t want to risk that anymore.

Why did Shizuo _have_ to be an exception? And since when did he ask the right questions? Izaya softly sighed, half-forgetting that Shizuo was staring at him and catching every little detail of his body language.

“I don’t know how to answer that question,” Izaya admitted, smiling. “Congratulations, Shizu-chan. You managed to ask a question I don’t know the answer to.”

“Fucking hell,” Shizuo said, and it sounded surprisingly petulant. “Your love is fucking useless.”

“Hey,” Izaya softly chuckled in protest. “That’s my feelings you’re talking about.”

“I hate you so fucking much.”

“I know, I know. But isn’t this just so exciting? You hate me, and yet here you are, sitting by my bed-side, trying to find good in me.”

“Yeah, how fucked up am I,” Shizuo muttered and his eyes left Izaya’s face, his gaze traveling across the room and lingering on the _No Smoking_ sign by the entrance of the room.

“I manipulated you, you know.”

Shizuo scoffed. “Hardly news. If I had a coin for every time you lied to me, I’d be one rich motherfucker by now.”

Izaya laughed, the sound quiet and iridescent. “I played on that desire of yours to see the good in me. You know, I acted lonelier than usual, I pretended to trust you with certain things. I even feigned familial affection. Mairu and Kururi’s photo, you saw it, yeah? I thought so. It was all just a game, Shizu-chan.”

“You did all that so you could hurt me,” Shizuo said, his frown deepening.

“That’s one way to look at it,” Izaya said, parting his hands slightly as if to show that he couldn’t help it. “I wanted to see how far you would go. You have to admit, when it comes to my games, that one was pretty innocent. In the end we just enjoyed one night together, and no one got too hurt.”

“ _God_ ,” Shizuo groaned. “You’re one horrible piece of shit. Why the fuck am I still here?”

“Believe me, I’m asking myself the same question.”

“I want you,” Shizuo suddenly said. He sat by the window, the dying sun peeking through the blinds to shine off the blond locks. That unruly hair had always driven Izaya mad, filling him up with all kinds of annoying desires, like wanting to run his hand through it or play with the strands that stuck out the most.

“I know,” Izaya said, forcing his gaze elsewhere. “Else I wouldn’t succeed in seducing you.”

“But like, I want more of you. You owe me, you motherfucker. You fucked me in the ass, majorly. You didn’t even know if my body was capable of healing tendon damage! What if I never _walked_ again?”

 _What a horrible thought_ , Izaya internally shuddered, but giggled out loud, instead. “I made a bet. Come on, we both know your body’s extraordinary. Remember the time you broke almost all of your ribs and pierced a lung? You healed that within a _week_.”

“Still, you owe me,” Shizuo said in a low growl of a warning. “So you should shut the fuck up, forget about your shitty games and be mine for some time. For starters, you and I never got the chance to fuck.”

Leave it to the animal to embrace his lust so quickly.

“I have to say I’m surprised that you’re still interested in me,” Izaya murmured, ignoring the way his heart fluttered at Shizuo’s words. “I didn’t think you could feel attraction to me unless you had some lingering hope that I was better than you had thought.”

“Not really,” Shizuo said, looking away. “Sure, I held out some hopes, but deep inside I always knew how low you could fall.”

“So why _do_ you feel attraction to me?” Izaya asked, wondering if he wanted to hear the answer.

“I’m the one asking questions today,” Shizuo grumbled, avoiding the question, and they sat in silence again.

People murmured outside of the room, the hallway full of sounds of life, doctors marching past and interns in scrubs running around. Hospitals were never a quiet place, not at this hour, but the room the two of them were in felt like a vacuum, separated from the outside world, and the growing silence did nothing to stop Izaya’s heart from splitting apart. The uncertainty that hung in the air terrified him.

“I actually did see a psychiatrist once,” Izaya said, in a desperate attempt to break the heavy silence, recalling a question that Shizuo once asked him.

Shizuo looked up, a small glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You did?”

Silly monster thought that Izaya sought treatment. “Mhm. He was an interesting person, and I thought it’d be fun to observe him from the perspective of a client.”

“ _Goddamn_ , Izaya,” Shizuo shook his head. “But did he say anything? Maybe some of the stuff he said still made you reconsider something?”

“Not really,” Izaya said, his mind flooded by the memories of the sessions that were so entertaining. “I actually did a better job helping him, just to irritate him. I flipped the doctor-client dynamic, and he didn’t notice it for almost a month. Eventually, he realized what was going on and banned me from ever stepping foot in his office. He was so furious,” Izaya giggled at the memory of the man’s reddened face.

Shizuo shook his head again, but his mouth twitched, hints of a smile breaking through. He clearly didn’t want to be amused by the story, but Izaya knew it was a funny one.

“He said I wasn’t a sociopath,” Izaya continued, remembering more details. “Just said that I had _issues_ , whatever that means. I mean, _of course_ , I’m not a sociopath. Sociopaths don’t feel a lot of things, and I can feel the entirety of the spectrum of human emotions, very powerfully, too. Not to mention my connection to Shinra.” Izaya paused for a second, then added, “And you.”

“What kind of things don’t sociopaths feel?” Shizuo asked, leaning in.

“Guilt, remorse, all that heavy stuff. I don’t tend to act on those feelings, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t feel them. I just dismiss them on the regular. Sociopaths don’t have this choice. They’re incapable of empathy in the first place, and I’m actually very empathetic. That’s why I can react so strongly to humans and their emotions. That’s why I can feel so happy,” Izaya smiled blissfully. 

“What if you… you know, stopped dismissing them?” Shizuo asked, hesitant.

Izaya felt his smile begin to fade before he stretched it wide again. “I don’t remember a life like that.”

“But you could allow yourself to feel them a little, right?”

“It hurts me when you say that,” Izaya lied, his mind racing to calculate the best way to sweep this topic under the rug. He ran his mouth too much, and it was highly unpleasant that the monster was still trying to fix him.

“No, it doesn’t, you fuck,” Shizuo saw right through him.

“Yeah, it doesn’t,” Izaya admitted, nodding. “But don’t you think it’s a little unfair? I accept you, Shizu-chan, as you are. If you were to turn into a complete monster, I would love you all the same. If you continued evolving into a real human like you have been these last couple of years, the story is the same there. I love you, no matter what you do or where you go. You know, I wonder why you’re even here. Whatever interest you might have in me, it can’t be strong as the feelings that I have for you because instead of accepting me the way I am, you’re fixated on trying to change me.”

“Bull-fucking-shit!” Shizuo spat, rising from his chair. There was that familiar rage in his eyes, and Izaya clutched the sheets between his fingers. His body was so weakened, he could barely curl his toes, let alone dodge a punch if it came flying his way. Shizuo must have noticed Izaya tense because he cleared his throat and sat back down. “Bullshit,” he repeated, in a quieter voice that still shook from the anger that was overwhelming him. “Don’t you _dare_ talk to me about your fucked-up feelings like they’re stronger than mine. You always talk so much shit, and you think you’re so smart. Forget your lying tongue for a second, and even your lying mind. Look at _actions_. Look at both of our actions. I went against the law for you. I _chose_ you, not once, not twice, _many_ times. When it was time for _you_ to choose, you chose your shitty obsession with leading a shitty lifestyle where you’re so far away from everything that nothing ever reaches you. You chose your fantasy over me, like that idiot who lived alone in the fortress. So don’t you fucking feed me lies about having _feelings_ for me, Izaya, or god help me, I _will_ lose it.”

By the time Shizuo finished his angry speech, there were goosebumps running down Izaya’s spine and his heart stilled in his chest, because Shizuo was right about everything. There was nothing Izaya could say to that. Being speechless wasn’t a frequent occurrence in his life, but when it did happen, it was always because of Shizuo.

He looked down on his hands, dark strands falling over his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly, ghost of a smile on his lips. “That’s right, Shizu-chan. I didn’t choose you.”

“So fuck you, Izaya,” Shizuo said and rose from his seat again. “ _Fuck you_.”

He headed towards the door, throwing something on Izaya’s bed as he walked past it. It glittered gold, and Izaya recognized the _gwent_ card Shizuo took from him a while ago, the one that depicted the blond man. Izaya’s favorite card, allegedly.

“Are you leaving?” Izaya was so stunned that he asked a dumb question like that, already knowing the answer. His voice sounded funny, trembling and echoing somewhere within his own ears. There was a strange feeling that clasped around his heart where he knew that if he asked him to stay, Shizuo would, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice that.

Shizuo turned to look at him at the threshold. “Get out of my life, Izaya,” he said in a tone Izaya had never heard before. A quiet growl that lacked anger, and he distantly wondered if this was the face of sadness. Shizuo had never looked sad in front of him before. “The next time I catch you doing something illegal, I will go after you. So leave me the fuck alone and live your shitty life without me. I mean, your life is plenty exciting already, right?”

Izaya was about to weakly disagree because he was still riding on that unusual wave of honesty of the day, but Shizuo didn’t wait for an answer to his bitter question, disappearing behind the door frame.

He listened to the dying sound of angry footsteps in the hallway, floorboards creaking in a whine under each one, and the rhythm clashed against the loud, unstable beats of his trembling heart. Dissonance really was a frequent guest these days.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he soundlessly cursed, leaning forward despite the pain at his stitches and picking the card off the covers.

The monster just had to keep taking his breath away.

 

!

 

Regret was one of those emotions that Izaya had little experience with, so the next few days he spent taking it apart and reassembling it in a way where he would be happy with what had happened.

He always thought that he was already plenty used to the lack of Shizuo in his life, but now that the possibility of him being gone for real was dancing on the horizon, Izaya found himself questioning whether he could be truly happy with that outcome. Normally, he would have escaped from the hospital at this point, tired of being chained to one place for too long, but for the first time in a long while, he had nothing to look forward to outside of the white walls that surrounded him. Namie was waiting for his release, but he wasn’t in a hurry to go play with her. Jinnai Yodogiri finally came out to grace him with his presence, but that could wait, too. Nothing that his humans could offer him seemed to match the strength of the emotions Shizuo incited in him.

He used to hate Shizuo, because the man was everything Izaya wasn’t, and it worked for him. Izaya worked hard to get where he was in his life, thinking, overthinking, calculating everything to precision and then laughing when humans still exceeded his expectations. In contrast, Shizuo went about life with his instincts and everything seemed to just fall into the right place for him. Considering how much Izaya continually hindered the man’s life, had he never met him in the first place, the detective would have been even more successful at this point. And was that really fair?

He suspected that these feelings of envy were only in place because of the actor-observer bias. Izaya knew all about his own inner life, but he couldn’t know for certain what Shizuo felt himself. He only noticed the good things about Shizuo’s life: a number of loyal friends, despite the fact that Shizuo tried his best to distance himself from people, and that continuous interest from other people who could see what kind of person Shizuo really was underneath that impulsive rage that took over him at times.

And Shizuo was a good person. An amazing person, really. One of a kind. His emotions were so heightened and pure, so humanly raw that he was the most human human. Anyone else that Izaya had met, they were replaceable in his mind. That’s why he shuffled through different people, always in a search for new thoughts, new dilemmas, new crossroads in people’s lives. But Shizuo was the only one who was truly unique; no one and nothing could replace the feelings he stirred in Izaya’s heart and mind, and that used to irritate him so much, he spent years believing that he hated him.

Ultimately, Izaya was possessive. He didn’t want to let Shizuo break free of him. Without Izaya in his life, Shizuo was going to rise so far above, he would leave him behind, forgetting all about the significance Shizuo held in the informant’s mind. It was always incredibly unfair how strong Izaya’s feelings were for Shizuo compared to how it was the other way around. What was it that Shizuo said to him recently? _You really overestimate your importance in my life._ Those simple words tugged at Izaya’s heartstrings harder than any other insult or expletive Shizuo had thrown at him throughout all their years of conflict.

“You’ll be out of here very soon,” the nurse said cheerfully, fixing his pillow. “Your recovery is progressing really well.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Izaya cooed, looking up at her with a smile. “I really enjoy being here, you know.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Orihara-san,” the woman smiled back. “Aren’t you excited to be out and be with your friends and family again?”

She said those words, then covered her mouth with a small hand. She must have remembered that he hadn’t had a single visitor, aside from Shizuo who was a cop and everyone but the doctor thought he was there to question Izaya on the details of the stabbing.

“It’s alright,” Izaya sweetly smiled. Normally he would be delighted at the cute expressions of shock the nurse was going through, but that day he just wanted her to leave him alone. “I’m alright,” he repeated, adding a sad note to his voice so she would feel guiltier.

The nurse looked terrified at the mishap in small-talk, and after fixing his IV, she hurried out of the room, just like he wanted her to.

There was a cell-phone resting in his hand. He had held it since the morning and the metallic material was hot from the continuous contact with his skin. He had typed up a message, too, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to send it just yet.

First of all, Shizuo would most likely not respond, and then Izaya would have to deal with the silence, wondering if he ignored it or if he just didn’t see it, like the usual.

Secondly, this was an act that was based off his feelings, his pain and his longing. It wasn’t a thoroughly calculated move, an act of a game or a part of an experiment. The message was a reflection of Izaya’s heart, and the implications of that kind of exposure trapped him in a dark place, making him question the entirety of his being. Sure, he had let Shizuo see a lot of himself by now, but there had to be a limit there somewhere.

And lastly, the path that would unfold in front of him if he were to diminish his love for humans was grim and worrisome, unlike anything else he had done before.

He took a deep breath and brushed his thumb against the part of the screen that read _Send_ , sending the message on its way.

The little delivery checkmark flashed half a second later, informing him that Shizuo’s phone did receive the text. He wondered if this was the way millions of high school girls around the world felt when they sent confessions to the objects of their affection. The humorous thought cheered him up a little, and some fifteen agonizing minutes later he resigned himself to accept that there would be no response, as there had been none for the last few years.

This allowed him to move on.

This gave him the freedom to be with his humans again. His heart faltered for a second, fire burning around where Izaya thought the valves were, but after a few deep breaths, he greeted the old familiar excitement that coursed deep through his veins and he began thinking about Namie, about Jinnai Yodogiri, about all the other beautiful humans that he was looking forward to observing. He couldn't wait to be with them.

After all, Izaya Orihara knew himself to be a frail man, and feelings never trapped him long enough that they would break him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * due diligence - "the care that a reasonable person exercises to avoid harm to other persons or their property". In this chapter, I stretch this lawyer-ly phrase to mean that Izaya is exercising due diligence in order to protect his own heart.
> 
> The end. Thank you all who reviewed and sent kudos! I didn't expect this mess to be liked. :)
> 
> Special thanks to _indridason_ because she was an amazingly patient beta-reader.


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